


Ye Mighty and Despair

by allislaughter



Series: Rigged Games [3]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Eldritch, F/M, Illustrations, M/M, Other, POV Third Person, Poetry, Post-Game(s), Present Tense, Sequel, Trans Male Character, zalgo text
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 06:01:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 91,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24450031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allislaughter/pseuds/allislaughter
Summary: Now that Rig Miller's case is dealt with and he has a new life working for the Valentine Detective Agency, a boyfriend, and nothing to worry about, everything should be smooth sailing. Except, of course, there's a matter of certain threats still out to get him, whatever NEO-74 potentially will do, and trauma. Can't forget trauma. Mix in suddenly realizing there's still evidence of a life he long abandoned that needs to be destroyed before anyone has the chance to use it against him, and of course that means yet another trip through the Commonwealth on yet another case.The sequel to The System is Rigged in the Rigged Games series. Please read that and the in-between one-shot Transitions for context and to avoid spoilers before reading this one.
Relationships: Deacon (Fallout)/Original Male Character(s), Minor or Background Relationship(s), Nick Valentine & Original Male Character(s), Nick Valentine/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Rigged Games [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1687249
Comments: 14
Kudos: 6





	1. His Names are Many and His Brain Cells Few but One Name Remains Not His but Death's

**Author's Note:**

> Copy-pasted from The System is Rigged: 
> 
> For full disclosure, I never actually played any of the Fallout games, but I experience them vicariously through my friend glowstickia (on AO3 and tumblr; follow her fallout blog @falloutglow) and so have her help in writing this story to be as canon compliant/in-character as I can, but in the end this is for my fun and self-indulgence, so if I get anything wrong that accidentally slips past Glow then, to be honest, I'm not all that worried about it.
> 
> Also: This fic takes place following Glow's playthrough with her original character, Samara "Echo" Gray, who is not the Sole Survivor in her version of the story but is still the one to take on the Sole Survivor's role. Glow has plans to write Echo's story, so some things that happen in this fic might contradict future fics from Glow.
> 
> Unless otherwise noted, assume all chapters were written with Glow's help. Echo is Glow's OC, and other OCs of hers might pop up and will be noted appropriately. All other OCs, including Rig Miller, are mine unless otherwise noted. Tags will be added as appropriate/thought of, and please let me know if you feel it needs to be tagged in a certain manner I haven't thought of. Thank you, and enjoy.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything's fine and Rig has a good life now with nothing to worry about - except, of course, that's a lie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for illustrated depictions of blood in this chapter.

It’s been long enough that he’s had time to lick his wounds, to try and figure out what to do now that everything he’s ever known has gone up in flames, to try and climb out of the pit he was born in...

It’s been long enough that no one would still be in Cherbridge. If they’re looking for him, they won’t know to look for him there.

He slips into an abandoned facility. Heads for where he suspects certain information would be. Hacks into a terminal and brings up a file...

NEO-74

Ah. So that’s what it does...

Wouldn’t Apollo like to know?

He chuckles, low and quiet at first. Slowly rising in volume before turning into yells of frustration.

Wouldn’t.

_APOLLO._

Like to _KNOW._

No one is close enough to the old, abandoned streets of Cherbridge to hear him. As far as anyone knows...

...The old Transparency, Inc. building is empty with no more secrets to hide.

* * *

Settling into a new life post-Pits is equal parts easy and comforting. For once in his life, Rig feels like things are actually going well and that he isn’t stressed about what is going on all the time. The fact that most of his time is spent in the same few places in Diamond City now while the other three in his life handle most of the things outside the city walls helps too. Less guns and blood on his end. Even with Nick and Echo and Deacon all sometimes leaving for a few days at a time, they usually try to stagger it so at least one of them is left behind to make sure Rig is alright.

After all, they don’t know what happened to Ninety. They don’t know what that thing Rig was injected with might do. They don’t know what sort of trouble Rig would accidentally get into what with his habit of saying whatever nonsense comes to mind in a world Rig still isn’t the most familiar with...

And Rig gets to play secretary for the detective agency. File things, talk to clients, write reports, spend his free time playing with Dogmeat or writing poems or drawing or being reminded to eat. It’s good. It’s simple. And he’s being paid for it.

The others have been teaching him useful skills too. Cooking, of which he has some skills already that just needed to be adapted for post-war, some first aid, the occasional repair thing... It’s good. Almost domestic, even.

He tries to ignore the pit in his stomach and knot in his throat as the term “house husband” floats through his mesh of thoughts. The memories of the original Rig Miller. Of the ghoul he knew for only a few minutes before—

No one questions it when Rig drops the knife he’s holding, mid-cut into a tato, to step outside and get some air.

Settling into a new life post-Pits is equal parts easy and comforting... But there’s still some rough patches he’s not yet moved past. He walks his usual route, buildings and people blurring away the tighter he holds his arms in a poor attempt to ground himself. It’s too recent, he thinks. He still isn’t over the abuse his own brother put him through. The fear, the pain, the nightmares...

But now he gets to dream about his old best friend’s face, sometimes scarred, sometimes not, yet always treating him in some way he doesn’t like. He gets to dream about blood and guns and knives. Of strange men dressed in black with a face full of static...

How lucky, he thinks. He would love not to be perceived. To not have a body or physical form. To just be one of the many ghosts haunting the world and not have to _be._

“Rig. _Rig.”_

He blinks back into awareness and slows to a stop. Right. That’s his name. That’s Deacon’s voice. He turns and sees Deacon walk up to him and drape an arm around his shoulders.

“Echo said you just walked out on us,” Deacon says, trying to keep his tone light. “Didn’t even finish cutting that tato. If you wanted to do an emergency grocery run, you should have asked me if I wanted anything.”

“You want anything?” Rig asks. He leans into Deacon’s side though his grip on his arms only loosens slightly. He lets Deacon guide him back to Echo’s home.

“Think you could pick up some more BlamCo? Love that stuff. Heh, I bet you used to eat that all the time.”

“No,” Rig sighs. “It tasted like soap to me...”

Deacon sends him an amused look. “Yeah? And how do you know what soap tastes like?”

Rig sighs, yet again. “Turns out washing your mouth out with soap isn’t supposed to be literal...”

_“You?_ Say a naughty cuss word?” Deacon chuckles. “I never heard you say anything worse than ‘heck’.”

“Nng.”

Deacon gives Rig a light squeeze. “You want to talk about it, Rigbert? What was it this time?”

“S’just thinking,” Rig says. “Dangerous. Me and thinking.” He groans. _“Stupid._ It’s so stupid! S’wasn’t even anything important, but got me all weird in my head and—” He tilts his head to lean on Deacon’s shoulder, but misses and hits Deacon’s head. “Ow—”

Deacon laughs. “You good?”

“No,” Rig sighs.

“Oh no, got a headwound? Do we need to amputate?”

“Yeah...”

Deacon frowns. “Hey.”

“That would kill me, right?” Rig mumbles. “Don’t see how that would be a thing I could survive, even with whatever that Ambrosia thing did to me. Stupid— _Stupid._ I...” He sighs and looks at Deacon. “Was thinking about... Other Rig again...”

Deacon’s expression turns unreadable. Then again, Rig always had trouble reading faces. “...Right.”

“I just...” Rig wrinkles his nose. “Really did just move on because it was more convenient. It’s not— It’s not losing him that’s getting me, it’s... knowing he’s dead. Knowing _how_ he died. Knowing what’s-his-face has his face—” He pauses and then laughs, though it then mixes with sobs as he wraps his arms around Deacon and presses his face into his shoulder. “I’m a liar and an idiot.”

Deacon holds him. “Well. You’re in good company.”

“Stupid— Stupid brain stuff. Everything’s... Bad.”

“I know that feeling.”

“No, no, it’s—” Rig groans. “I’m sad.”

“I know.”

“I want to go home.”

“Let’s go home.”

Rig wipes his eyes and hooks his arm around Deacon’s and lets Deacon lead him back. He finally takes in the dark streets, the distance he walked, the feeling of air in his head that makes him dizzy. Deacon gets him inside, and he goes and sits down, his head in his hands as he tries to steady himself... 

Everything’s fine. He’s got people around him who care about him. Who _he_ cares about and wants to do good for. Who treat him better than people he used to know. Who know his secrets but don’t judge him for them. Who are safe to be around...

It should be easy and comforting...

And he’ll keep up that lie until it’s true.

* * *

The next morning is better. The morning is soft, between Deacon in his arms and the sleepy thoughts of “I like this” and “I don’t want to move.” Rig’s mind wanders back to his dream... A familiar kitchen, an attempt to make tea interrupted by a static-faced guest. But he’s a good host and makes that second cup of tea...

They talked about something... What was it...?

Deacon stirs, probably awake before Rig and just waiting for him to wake up again, and flips over in time for Rig to forget what he was thinking. Deacon smiles at him and leans in to press his lips to Rig’s forehead.

Deacon blows a raspberry and then jumps away before Rig can react.

Rig slaps a hand to his forehead, shock rife on his face, and he walks out of the bedroom with his hand and shock still in place and finds Deacon seated at the table as if he did nothing.

“Something wrong with your head, Rig?” Nick asks, though he’s already looking at Deacon for answers.

_“Whyyyy?”_ Rig asks, voice low and whispy in his terror.

Deacon laughs. “You should see your face. Anyone got a mirror?”

“What did he do this time?” Echo asks.

“Raspberry,” Rig says. _“On_ my face.”

Echo grins and doesn’t try to hold back her laughter. She elbows Deacon. “Don’t do that.”

“Aww,” Deacon puts on a fake, disappointed tone. “I never get to have any fun.”

Rig walks over and leans over to hug him, gently headbutting him affectionately before walking back to the bedroom to change clothes.

“Hey!” Deacon calls after him. “You have a license to be that cute?”

Rig chuckles and gets on his day clothes and his signature flamingo shirt. It’s fun, how people around Diamond City seem to know him now by his shirt alone. There’s even some trouble identifying him on days he doesn’t wear it, but that seems circumvented by him wearing another tropical shirt on laundry days, though it’s clear that flamingos are his favorite.

Shame it already needed to be sewn up to fix that tear in the back... If he never sees Ninety again, it’ll be too soon. He shakes his head and then walks back out to join the others for breakfast, now including Dogmeat at Deacon’s side waiting for Deacon to sneak him scraps.

“I’m waking you up early tomorrow,” Echo tells him as he walks back in. “It’s your turn to make breakfast.”

“Okay,” Rig nods. He stops to pet Dogmeat who boofs at him and then takes a seat. “Did you make tea?”

She slides him a mug and a plate of food. “It’s also your turn to make tea tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Rig agrees. “Might s’well, been doing it enough times in dreamspace time already...”

Nick chuckles in amusement. “You’ve been dreaming of making tea?”

“Well, no, it just gets there lately,” Rig shrugs. “Somehow always shifts back to my old kitchen and that one guy with the face asking for tea. It’s okay though. Better than the nights I have nightmares.”

“One guy with the face?” Deacon asks. He leans forward, his elbow on the table and his chin in his head. “Should I be jealous you’re not dreaming of me?”

Rig’s eyes widen and he sputters. “We— We’re not talking about my dreams about you.”

Deacon grins and starts laughing. _“Oh!_ I see!”

“No, shut up,” Rig covers his face. “Shut up! It’s not like that— The most recent one you were wearing a raincoat and said something in a British accent before making us escape from something by going through the sewers—”

“Sounds like last Tuesday,” Deacon hums.

“Is _that_ where you ran off to?” Echo asks. 

Nick squints at Rig. “How is that embarrassing to talk about?”

“Because I’m dreaming about a person I have a crush on,” Rig says, hitting the table and then wincing as the dishes clatter. “That’s weird!”

Deacon reaches over and places a hand on Rig’s. “Rig, this might come as a shock to you, but we’re dating. We’re boyfriends.”

Rig gasps. “Oh no! That’s good!”

Nick shakes his head. “I look forward to when this ‘honeymoon’ period for you two is over.”

“We’re not married,” Rig frowns. He stops and eyes Deacon warily. “Are we?”

“Nope,” Deacon says. “We can’t get married until I annul my marriage to Becky the Deathclaw.”

“Oh, okay,” Rig says. “No rush, then. Is Becky prettier than I am?”

Deacon hums and taps his chin. “Hmm... _Hmmmm._ Nah, you’re prettier.”

“Thanks,” Rig says. He motions over his chest. “Had some work done.”

Echo chokes on her drink and coughs between laughing. _“Rig!_ Not at breakfast!”

Rig grins and busies himself with eating. The rest of the morning goes well, with the group of them heading to the Agency office, Rig getting to work on everything he didn’t finish the day before, and just casually listening as the other three handle any old cases they need to deal with, or any new cases with the occasional client that walks in.

One client walks in, talks with Echo and Deacon, and the three of them head off together, with Dogmeat sticking with Echo, leaving Nick to babysit Rig.

“So, I haven’t gotten the chance to ask yet,” Nick says as he lights a cigarette. “How are you adjusting to things...? I know that last night you... well...”

Rig looks up from the file he’s reading. “...Most days are fine. I know coping things... Most days I can think about that kinda thing and not have a reaction... Just weird, the days it does get set off... You know what that’s like...?”

Nick sighs. “More than you might think...” He nods towards one of the filing cabinets that Rig had been told not to touch without permission. “Take a look in the top drawer there...”

Rig closes the folder he’s reading and furrows his brow. “Is this secrets again...?”

“You shouldn’t be so afraid about us telling you secrets,” Nick frowns. “You’re a lot better now that you’re more lucid.” He sighs. “But, no, it’s not a secret. Just old memories...”

Rig bites his lip and eyes the cabinet like a spectre out to haunt them. He shuffles over and opens the drawer with a grating squeak of the old metal. He cringes at the sound and then blinks his eyes open to peek in. He glances at Nick for permission and at his wave, he gingerly pulls out old framed photographs of people from long long ago. A woman and a man with faces he doesn’t recognize but feels like he saw before somehow... a pair of names. “Jenny and Nick.” He blinks and looks over at the Nick sitting in front of him. The stark difference in appearances...

Nick smiles in amusement as Rig’s repeated looks up at him and down at the photo. “I’m guessing you pulled out one of the photos of the original Nick. He was a looker, wasn’t he...? Compared to this mug— Don’t tell Echo I said that.”

“Nn, he’s...” Rig squints. “Familiar... Don’t know why... Who’s... Jenny....?”

“Jennifer Lands,” Nick says, voice growing soft. “My— The original Nick’s fiancée...” He shakes his head. “I have his memories. Sometimes it’s hard to separate who I am now from who he was. I still get flashes of things _he_ remembered and experienced... Things I never did, but...”

“Are still part of you?” Rig asks. “Because you’re... blub.” He reaches in for another photo. Another one of Jenny. He sets it back and fishes for something different. “Because you’re built off his memries, so that influences you now even if you’re different because of everything you experienced after...?”

“Sure,” Nick says. He sighs. “There’s a lot we didn’t tell you about what happened to us in the time you were sleeping. There was that whole Eddie Winter case, and no that’s _not_ a ‘sports team mascot’. He was another crime boss, like Trig Millard. A worse one too.”

“Oh,” Rig says. “O— Okay...”

Nick frowns. “Sorry. I should have—”

“No, no,” Rig interjects. “No, I just... don’t know how to react... with this information or what you’re saying or why...?” He pulls out another photo. A baby...? “You had a kid? I mean— Original Nick?”

“What?” Nick chuckles. “No, no, those are photos of my niece and nephew. It’s... nice to think of them as _my_ family, even if they were actually the original Nick’s...”

“They might as well be,” Rig says. Another baby photo, this one of a child in a dress... He squints. Why is this familiar...? Where has he seen this before...? “I’m sure they would have loved you. You’re very lovable.”

“Well, thanks,” Nick grins. “But I’m not too sure about that. From what I can tell, they never even met the original Nick, so there’s no telling what they’d think of him, much less me.”

“What were their names?” Rig asks. He finds another photo, this one of two children, a boy and a girl.

In a yellow kitchen.

Nick says a pair of names, and the photo slips from Rig’s hands. Rig scrambles to catch it before it hits the ground, but instead hits his head on the open drawer. He pulls back, hand slapping over his now wet forehead, staring at the broken frame and the drops of red that landed on the cracked glass.

Nick swears, but Rig doesn’t hear it with the ringing in his ears and blood dripping down his face and arm. Rig blinks back into reality with Nick pulling him to a seat and coaxing his hand away to clean the cut. Rig winces as the antiseptic hits his skin.

“Sorry,” he says. “Sorry, sorry—”

“It’s just a photo,” Nick assures. “Don’t worry. You’re more important.”

“I’m sorry— I’m sorry,” Rig continues. “I gotta go. I gotta leave. I can never talk to you again—”

_“Rig.”_ Nick clamps a hand on Rig’s shoulder. “Look at me.”

Rig blinks up at Nick’s face.

“It’s just a photo,” Nick repeats. “I’m not mad. You don’t need to leave because of an accident.”

Rig’s panicked expression softens to one of mere worry, but he nods. “Okay... Okay...”

“Good,” Nick smiles reassuringly. “It’s just old memories I’m borrowing from a long dead cop. They aren’t as important as the people in the here and now, alright? Now go grab a towel and some water and clean off that blood before Deacon comes back and accuses me of trying to kill his boyfriend. I’ll clean up in here.”

“Okay,” Rig says, getting up though he’s still a bit shaking. “Okay. Okay.”

Nick hesitates. “Unless you need help—?”

“No, no, no,” Rig shakes his head. He grabs the aforementioned towel and water and hurries out. “No, no, no...” He keeps walking, perhaps a bit farther than Nick intended, until he feels safe enough to stop. He breathes deeply, eyes shut tight, and then finally peeks them open to look at the drying blood on his hand and arm, to say nothing of what’s on his face... He grimaces and gets to work scrubbing it off.

“Hey, Miller!”

Rig blinks up as someone walks up to him— someone he knows he’s seen around Diamond City before but heck if he remembers her name. She looks over him and winces.

“Lose a fight?” she asks.

“Yeah,” Rig sighs.

“You, uh... missed a spot.” She points at the right side of her face and Rig reaches the towel to his right— She points more fervently and he remembers to mirror and moves the towel to the left. “There you go. Who was the other guy?”

Rig sighs. “A filing cabinet.”

She blinks and then laughs. “Of course. Anyway, I think there was a mistake with the mail today, so I’m glad I caught you.” She pulls out an envelope and hands it to him. “Here. Addressed to one Rig Miller.”

Rig blinks and tosses the towel onto his shoulder and takes the letter. “Oh, thanks...”

“No problem,” she says. “And send me more of those poems of yours sometime. They’re great.”

“Sure...” Rig says, staring at the envelope. “Okay. Bye.” He wanders off without listening for a good-bye back. He slides a finger under the seal of the envelope and rips it open. He pulls out the letter and reads over it.

> I am Ozymandias, King of Kings. Look upon my works, ye mighty, and despair.
> 
> ⊿

“What...?” he squints, looking for more to the letter but finding nothing. Just an ominous quote of an old poem from... a triangle...?

A... right triangle... Ninety degrees...

He groans and rubs at the now healing cut on his forehead. _“Whyyyyy,”_ he asks, voice low and whispy in his frustration.

He walks back into the Agency and Nick stands when he comes in. He walks up to Nick and hugs him, burying his face into Nick’s chest.

“Uh— Okay?” Nick pats Rig’s back. “Feeling better?”

“No,” Rig says, muffled.

“Oh...” Nick sighs and holds him. “If you need to talk about it...”

The door slams open, and with it Deacon enters, about to make a joke. It dies before it’s said from Rig jumping, gripping tighter to the back of Nick’s coat, and bursting into tears.

“Oh, damn—” Deacon winces. He moves out of the way to let Echo and Dogmeat back in and motions silently at Nick who shakes his head in equal uncertainty.

Echo frowns. “Rig...? What do you have there...? Why do you— Is that blood on that towel?”

“He picked a fight with the wrong filing cabinet,” Nick says.

“Ooh, gotta watch for those,” Deacon adds. “They’ve got a tough, metal defense and enough material to _file_ you down.” He tilts his head when Rig just holds Nick tighter. “No? Thought that would...” He looks to Echo for help.

Echo looks down at Dogmeat who trots over to Rig and Nick. Dogmeat nudges at Rig until Rig reaches down to pet him and Dogmeat grabs the letter out of Rig’s hand and carries it back over to Echo. 

Echo takes the letter and her eyes glow under her sunglasses. “...Ninety,” she whispers. 

“Already?” Deacon whines. “I was hoping we’d go at least a year before he turned up again. Maybe two. Have enough time to grow my hair out, maybe a beard...”

“How long does it take you to grow a beard?” Nick asks.

“Two hundred years for me,” Rig sniffles. He pulls back and wipes his face on a clean part of the towel. “...I got snot on you, sorry.”

“Ew,” Nick groans. “Rig...”

“He’s up to something,” Echo says, drawing their attention again. “He wants to try and lure Rig out...” She hands the letter to Deacon to read.

Deacon furrows his brow and thinks over the line. “He quoted this wrong.”

“What’s the quote?” Nick asks. “Rig just walked in without saying anything...”

“It _should_ be ‘My name is Ozymandias,’” Deacon says. “‘King of kings: Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!’”

Rig furrows his brow. “Wait, that’s how it goes...? How do you memorize things...? I don’t... memory things good...” He hesitates. “But— But I remember... Broken statue in the desert. Nothing else around. Just desert sands and howling wind. Inscription in the plaque reads ‘I am Ozymandias, King of Kings. Look upon my works, ye mighty, and despair’. A lesson in pride: time forgets even the most powerful...” He sends a thoughtful look at the wall. “Or— Or a witty joke, that the statue is his works and remains where nothing else does? Despair, then, that nothing else remains. Just a statue of a king who knew his own worth. Years to come. One day buried in the sands. As all Kings and Gods are in the end. His words remain, after everything else is gone... Something, something, literary analysis from first year Comm 1 I had to take as—” He cuts off and looks at Echo. “...Do you know where... he got the quote from...?”

Echo frowns. “There was a... An old essay on the desk he was looking through...”

Rig frowns. “...Despair, then, that nothing else remains. Just old works attributed to an old, _dead_ name. One that should have been buried when that kingdom was destroyed by the very king to whom that name was once employed.” He frowns. “It couldn’t have been _that_ essay. Someone else’s sure, that quoted it wrong. I would have referenced the text. I would have gotten it back. I would have burnt it once it became a risk. But the scientists at the Cherbridge campus knew _that_ name—” He winces. “...They got it from somewhere and that means other people can get it too—”

“You’re rambling,” Nick says. “You’re saying that...?”

“...I was willing to hurt someone,” Rig says, “because they used a name for me that they never should have known. That’s the one thing I’m willing to hurt someone over, but I don’t like people having that button to push. I— I need to go to the Pleasantview campus and get rid of any evidence of that name. All the digital files should be gone, but Trace wouldn’t have been able to get the hard copies. I don’t want anyone else to know or use that name—” He glances at Nick and then at the other two. “You— You three included...”

Deacon frowns. “Rig, you know we can’t let you go alone. You can’t even defend yourself against a filing cabinet.”

“...I know,” Rig sighs.

“Besides, what if this is a trap?” Nick asks. “What if Ninety is waiting there?”

“No, he’s...” Echo hums. “No, I don’t think it’s a _trap,_ though that doesn’t mean he’s not _there._ He’s trying to lure Rig out, but not _yet._ If anything, he’s setting up a trap and would be caught off guard by us going there early.” She directs her gaze at Rig. _“But_ if we go there and he’s still there, that’ll put _you_ in danger. And it’d mean you have to see him again.”

“...There is _one_ thing I know that has that old name on it,” Rig says. “That I wasn’t able to get access to without suspicion. I know where it would be, assuming it’s still there, but I don’t know how else Cherbridge would have known that name. Unless there was something I missed, but I had 15 years to get rid of any evidence that someone else existed before I did.” He groans. “I hate— I hate that name. I hate hearing that name. I hate that it’s a blimillion years later and I _still_ have to keep it away from people who would use it maliciously because people still can’t be nice about things.” He sighs. “Please. I need to make sure no one finds it. That no one else uses it. I don’t want any of you seeing it either, but if you could take me there— Treat it like a case, maybe? It can come out of my paycheck—”

“We’re not going to make you _pay_ for this,” Nick frowns. He nods towards Deacon. “We’ll take it out of _his_ paycheck.”

“What?” Deacon whines. “Why?”

“We’ll leave whenever you’re ready,” Echo says.

Rig sighs. “...Tomorrow,” he says. “I need time to change my mind... Also it’s my turn to cook.”

Echo smiles. “Damn right it is.”


	2. A Brief Taste of the Highs and Lows of Rig Miller's Current Emotional State

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Agency starts off for PITS Pleasantview campus and pass through some of Rig's old haunts once again along the way.

This is stupid.

This is _stupid._

Rig sits in the bedroom, mid-clothing change, to bury his face in his hands. This is stupid, wanting to go to the Pleasantview campus just to destroy some information that might be there that doesn’t matter anymore. What are the chances that someone who doesn’t already know that old name would be able to connect it to him if they don’t even know he’s Apollo Ray? Ninety probably already knows, so it isn’t to keep it from him. Is it really just for comfort or—?

His fingers brush against the healing cut on his forehead. Oh, that’s right. He was thinking of _that_ kitchen, in the familiar ugly yellow he never liked. Yellow walls stained from smoke, yellow laminate counters and vinyl tiles, yellow light from too dim light bulbs. He saw that kitchen, those children, heard whatever names Nick said, but it was enough to remind him of a past he spent so long trying to abandon for his own safety and comfort.

And now he’s pulling everyone into a dangerous situation just for more of that safety and comfort he doesn’t even need.

Something sinks into the mattress next to him, and he immediately grabs his shirt to cover his chest. He glances up to see Deacon’s amused expression. “Oh. Hi.”

“You doing alright?” Deacon asks. “Or is sitting with your head in your hands, half-naked just one of those things you do for fun? You know you’re allowed to be shirtless, right?”

“No, I’m not,” Rig frowns. At Deacon’s brow raised he sighs and pulls his shirt on. “Don’t like... flesh skin.”

“...Gross.”

“Yeah.” Rig gets his head through the correct hole and then squints. “Or did you mean the phrasing...?”

“Yes,” Deacon quips. He chuckles and wraps an arm around Rig and tugs him close. “So you don’t like bodies. That’s it?”

“Yeah,” Rig sighs. “It’s... weird, I know.”

“Nah, it’s understandable. But what’s up this time?” Deacon frowns. “The other two are waiting to get going...”

Rig wipes a hand down his face, over what’s still stubble after all this time, perhaps only grown only slightly more. He really can never shave. It’ll never grow back. “...Is this a good idea?” he asks. “Maybe I was wrong about where they got the name from. Maybe we’re going to go there for no reason and I’ll just have put all of us in danger for no reason. Maybe it’s not even necessary to get rid of something I don’t know for sure is there? Who would connect that to _me?_ No one knows I’m Apollo Ray.”

“Well, no,” Deacon frowns. “That’s not true. Mongoose and Lady know. Ninety knows. All four of us know. Take it from someone whose other job is all about keeping secrets. Even one other person knowing a secret makes it several times more likely it’ll be found out. Especially if some people on that list can’t be trusted to keep yours. And keeping your original identity secret is sometimes just as important now as it was for you back then. Maybe for different reasons now—or in some cases the same ones—but it isn’t stupid that you want to protect yourself by getting rid of whatever evidence you can of something that could be used to harm you.”

“You’re not allowed to know it either,” Rig mumbles.

Deacon frowns. “Yeah— Yeah, I know...”

“...Do you?” Rig asks.

Deacon doesn’t answer. He stands up and grins down at Rig. “C’mon, get on your flamingo shirt and let’s get going. We’re burning daylight.”

Rig furrows his brow but nods. He grabs his signature shirt and follows Deacon out to the other two where Echo is packing her bag.

“Ready to go?” Echo asks.

“Um...” Rig rubs his arm. “If— If Ninety _is_ there... What are we going to do?”

“We’ll try to avoid him and get you out of there,” Nick says. “But if he tries hurting any of us, we’ll have to defend ourselves. If it’s a matter of life or death...”

Rig winces and nods. “Okay... Makes sense... Let’s go...”

“Do you know the way to the campus?” Echo asks. “We haven’t actually been there yet.”

Rig rubs his neck. “Um... If we go to my old place first, I can figure it out from there.”

“That works,” Echo says. “We can break at your old place too, depending on how long this takes. If you’re okay with that.”

Rig shrugs. “We’ll see.”

The trip out of Diamond City is fine, even if Rig lets the others talk more than he does. It’s just like before, doing a thing Rig asked them for help with, with Rig silently listening to their conversation... Except now with a painful clarity and newfound fear of the current world.

“So, I meant to ask,” Deacon says. “What did Rig pick a fight with the filing cabinet about? Were the folders mislabeled _again?”_

Rig looks away and fiddles with his hands.

“No, it was an accident,” Nick says, just ahead of them and walking next to Echo. “I was showing him some of the old Nick’s photos and he dropped one and hit his head trying to catch it.”

“Too shocked by what the old Nick looked like compared to you?” Deacon asks, head tilted _just_ enough that Rig knows he’s looking at him.

“No, it was actually an old photo of my niece and nephew,” Nick chuckles. He looks back at Rig and frowns. “Hey. Rig, I already told you, it’s alright. The photo’s fine, and I can replace the frame later. I’ve dropped a few of them over the years myself.”

“Okay,” Rig says. “Sorry.”

Echo shakes her head. “You don’t need to apologize for things like that, Rigs.”

Rig looks towards her and says nothing. Instead he sighs and looks at Deacon and offers out his hand. Deacon accepts it and Rig holds on as they continue on.

They pass by Cheer Gardens where people are in the middle of building a new settlement. Rig lets go of Deacon’s hand before anyone sees them and he instead holds onto the collar of his shirt. When they get to the clock, Rig mumbles a “just a moment” and shuffles over to the old Middlesex Railroaders brick.

“You going to do this every time we pass by here?” Deacon chuckles. “A man of routine, huh?”

“Yeah,” Rig says. “Am.” He nudges a pebble off the brick and frowns down at the old, familiar words, now with the knowledge of what Transparency really was in his mind. 

...It won’t take much longer for the words to be unreadable. He won’t be able to find the brick the next time he comes here. If he wants, he can choose to forget the Railroaders. Forget that sordid history and the lives they let die that they were trying to help. It’d be easier to put it behind him and forget it ever happened.

It— It’d be convenient for him to... not miss them...

...Terrible.

_Stupid._

Violent. Heartless. Selfish.

It must be so _easy,_ heartless as he is. He just _moved on._ Stopped caring about his so-called _friends._ Because it’s more convenient not to miss them.

Terrible. _Terrible._

He blinks hard and then realizes the others are calling his name. “Hi, yes, sorry, what?” he asks at their looks of concern.

“What happened there, bud?” Deacon asks. “You thinking again?”

“Yeah,” Rig sighs. “I’m— not having a good time.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Echo asks.

“Ehhh,” Rig shrugs. “Yeah, but... I dunno how. Maybe later. Just want to get to Bird Mledows right now...” He sighs again and starts off again. He remembers the way there this time, at least.

Stupid Ninety. Stupid— _Stupid._ Since when did he place any confidence in what Ninety told him? Why should he believe any of that is true? It isn’t, it can’t be, there has to be... He can’t be heartless, can he? Even with how hard it is for him to be a—

“Rig, wait, you forgot something,” Deacon says as he catches up with him. He holds out his fist to give Rig something.

“Huh...?” Rig blinks but puts out his hand to accept it.

Deacon opens his fist and wraps it around Rig’s hand. “There we go. Now you’re ready.”

Rig blinks rapidly, trying to process what happened. He breaks into a giggle and then a sincere laugh as he holds his head. “That’s good— That was good. I liked that. I— I’m sorry.”

“You’ve got nothing to apologize for,” Deacon says. “Except for stealing the covers when we’re sleeping.”

“You’re the one who does that,” Rig frowns.

“Then you’ve got nothing to apologize for,” Deacon grins. “Right?”

“...I guess,” Rig says.

“So,” Echo says, now behind them with Nick instead of leading. “Guessing that old Railroaders brick reminded you of something?”

Rig hesitates and tilts his head back towards her. “Was thinking I could... just forget everything ‘bout them. Then got, uh... things Ninety said in my head. ‘Bout me moving on because it’s... convenient...”

Echo hums. “You mean your friends who the Railroaders helped?”

“...Yeah.”

“The ones you cried over when you found out what happened,” Echo points out. “Who you called Lady out about hurting. The ones you _did_ care about and then moved on because there was nothing you could do anymore.”

Rig furrows his brow. “Yeah. I guess. It’s just... Keep thinking about him and what he did and what he said... S’scary...”

“Ninety got to you more than you act, then,” Deacon frowns. “Look, you know how I’m a lovable liar that you can trust to lie to you?”

“Yeah,” Rig says. “I know that.”

“Trust me that this is the truth,” Deacon says. “The things Ninety said to you are _wrong._ It was all his attempt to manipulate you. He wasn’t saying all that shit to get us to distrust you. He was saying it to get _you_ to lose trust in yourself. That kind of person isn’t worth your time or energy. So next time you start thinking about the things he said about you and start thinking he might be right, you let one of us know. We’ll remind you he’s wrong.”

“...Yeah,” Rig says. “That’s— Yeah.” He sighs. “It’s just... Weird to think it _is_ so easy to— to move on. I don’t... understand emotions well enough. Is it supposed to be this easy or am I just...?” He trails off, unsure what adjective to insert there. Not broken. Maybe broken? No, not broken. Never broken.

“It’s different for everyone,” Nick says. “People cope differently. Some spend years obsessing and never moving on. Some lose their loved ones and move on fairly quickly...”

Rig frowns. “...Do you think— Um...”

“Go on,” Echo prompts. “No judgement here.”

“Do you think my family cared that I disappeared?” Rig asks, barely loud enough for them to hear. “The people I knew back home, they would have had photos and memories of a life I had erased from digital records. A life that’s essentially a ghost or a myth now, with very little evidence left it ever _existed._ But they should have noticed I vanished and lost contact with them, right...?” He swipes a hand through his hair. “Just... seems weird I never heard anything about them looking for me. Family looking for a missing daughter who they have photographic evidence of but who legally doesn’t exist... It had 15 years to be an episode of those unsolved mystery shows I used to watch... But I never heard a thing about it.” He snorts. “Or maybe the Railroaders were better at what they did than I thought... I know Trace did good work, but most people didn’t even need to erase their previous existence like I needed to.”

“Your family really was that terrible, huh?” Nick asks.

“I know how that is,” Echo frowns.

“I don’t like my brother,” Rig says. “He— I wasn’t hurt as badly as other people with abusive families, but...” He frowns. “I still hate him. He still hurt me physically and mentally and my parents kept— kept saying ‘he’s our son, we can’t abandon him’ and... it’s like they didn’t care about _me_ being hurt because they didn’t want to hurt _him._ I was supposed to go back to Florida after my first year at PITS but I called ahead to make sure he wouldn’t be there when they picked me up from the airport but they insisted ‘no, he has to be there, he wants to go and we can’t tell him no’. And then they made me talk with him about it and I just... got _so mad.”_

“You had every right to,” Nick says.

Rig sighs. “I know... That’s... when I went to Boston, having a breakdown and walking into a hair salo— hair parl— hair salon and asking to get my hair cut short as possible. And I guess I just... said everything on my mind, talked about my family and ‘bout gender with two strangers, and then over two hundred years later I’m _me._ I’m finally me, but Ninety tried taking that away again. So now I’m willing to go back to the Pleasantview campus without knowing what might be there to just... Whatever it is we’re doing, and I feel so _silly_ and _stupid_ and I just... Can’t convince myself this is a good idea. That it won’t go wrong and just hurt me like all my other decisions seem to in the end.”

“Hey,” Deacon nudges into Rig’s side. “This will be worth it. Trust me. Have I ever steered you wrong?”

“You fed me bloodblug,” Rig says. “And dared me to lick a glowing sword. You tricked me to eat dirt once.”

“He did what?” Nick deadpans.

“Rig!” Echo groans. “Stop putting things in your mouth just because Deacon says to!”

“But I trust him,” Rig pouts. _“He’s_ the one feeding me these things.”

Deacon laughs. “Oh, that’s going to get us killed one day, isn’t it?”

“Deacon,” Nick frowns. “Stop feeding Rig things he shouldn’t eat.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Rig says.

Everyone else stops walking, so Rig stops too and looks at them.

“...What?” he asks.

“You called Nick ‘Dad’,” Echo says with air quotes.

“Yeah?” Rig says. “Z’hat weird? I can stop.”

Nick’s cheeks tinge blue. “You think of me as a father figure?”

“Yeah,” Rig says. “Want to teach me to throw an engine or fix a baseball or something? I rather you be my dad than my uncle.”

“Why would I be your uncle?” Nick asks.

“Does that make Echo your mom?” Deacon asks.

_“Gods,”_ Echo groans.

“No,” Rig says. “That’d be weird.” He tilts his head. “This is weird, isn’t it? Okay, Nick’s not my dad then.”

“No, he’s your dad now,” Echo says. “It’s been decided.”

“Don’t I get a choice?” Nick asks.

Rig looks at him, lifting his brow in question.

“...Fine, I’m your dad,” Nick sighs. “But don’t— don’t make a big fuss over it. Just imagine the rumors.”

“Nick Valentine’s illegitimate son,” Deacon announces. “Featuring an interview with the mother, a toaster.”

“She was a lovely woman,” Rig adds. “Made breakfast for me every day. Only breakfast. She couldn’t afford anything else without child support.”

“Do you want me to unadopt you right now?” Nick asks.

Echo laughs. “Alright, _son,_ get moving. More sass out of you, and you’re grounded.”

“Okay,” Rig smiles. “You’re good family, though. I love you both.”

“You’re a precious man, Miller,” Deacon chuckles.

The rest of the trip goes smoothly after that, save for a few times Rig has to hide under cover while the others fight off some aggressive threats. It slows them down enough that the sun is setting by the time they get to Bird Meadows. Rig leads them back to his old house for shelter for the night.

“Deacon, you brought that hotplate?” Echo asks as she sets down her things. “We can cook that meat we got earlier.”

“Yep, already on it,” Deacon says, pulling the hotplate from his bag. He nudges Rig with his elbow. “Well, honeypie, mind if I cook dinner tonight?”

“Don’t call me that,” Rig giggles. “Wouldn’t mind. There might still be mac in the cupboards too.”

“I thought you said it tastes like soap,” Deacon says.

“It wasn’t for me,” Rig shrugs. “Was for... other Rig... I cooked, so had to cook what he wanted a lot...” He pulls a face. _“Meatloaf._ With _ketchup._ Gross. Would have been better the way I made it for Mongoose when I lived with her.” He looks around. “If you... wanted to take anything, go ahead. Rig doesn’t have a need for ‘em anymore. I should...” He looks towards the bedrooms and the one with a sun painted on the door. “Check my room... see what’s there... I know that one teddy bear is gone now...”

“Nah, our son’s in my bag,” Deacon grins. “Hey, Nick, want to hold your grandson?”

“No,” Nick frowns.

Rig laughs. “I’ll be in my room.”

“Yell if you need us,” Echo says.

Rig smiles and heads off to his room. He grabs the handle and pushes it open—freezes in the doorway... But, no, there’s no one else in the room. That familiar fear of someone hiding in his room isn’t needed... There’s just enough sunlight still in the windows to see clearly...

It’s not nearly as much of a mess as he was worried it’d be. Some of the shelves have tipped over and his knick knacks and books are scattered. It looks like someone searched through his closet and broke the door only to leave it leaning against the wall. He can already tell some of his nicer clothes were stolen. His old plush toys are still in their hammock above the bed. His posters and art are faded and dirtied, some knocked askew... He picks through his books looking for any that are still salvageable... Nothing he cares enough to take, but he still sets them up on the desk to make them look presentable.

...Speaking of his desk.

He opens the drawers, trying to remember where he put what, what might have been taken, what he could use now. Nothing. There’s nothing he cares about in here. Weirdly... there’s some comfort in that.

Maybe he can forget he was ever Apollo Ray too. Just go on as Rig Miller. He hums and then shakes his head. No. Apollo Ray is still his name, even if Rig Miller is a nice nickname. He won’t give up on that identity just yet. It’s too good a name, after all. Too special to give up...

...He should have picked a better middle name, though.

The world grows dark outside, and in the final dredges of sunlight, Rig digs out the emergency candles to light them for a “candlelit dinner”, in Deacon’s words. The conversation is light, the food is good.

Rig smiles, watching the shadows on Deacon’s face dance from the flickering candles... Watches Echo’s soft touches on Nick’s arm, and Nick’s loving looks back at her, his eyes the only other light that evening. Rig laughs, at the pun Deacon says, and he picks at his food.

“It’s all so domestic, isn’t it?” he asks. “Just— What we’re doing. It’s like hurricane days in Florida... Only thing we’re missing is wind and rain...”

“You don’t talk about Florida much,” Echo points out. “Was it all terrible there, or...?”

“No,” Rig says. “There were good things. Just hard to separate it from the bad, s’terrible as my memory can be... But I remember hurricanes being... It— It was a regular thing.” He nods at Deacon. “He’s right, I like routine. Hurricanes were routine. Keep an eye on the news. On weather radars. Plan ahead.” He smiles at his food. “Dad knew what to look for, reading the radars. He usually could tell if a storm would be bad. If we had to evacuate or if we could stay home. If it’d hit us or go North or South of us...” He chuckles. “S’weird, that a natural disaster was comforting... Just— Just knowing we’d get through it. Get supplies, shutter the windows, radios with back-up batteries...” He points at the candles. “Candles and lighters. A few days locked inside till the storm passed. A few days more for things to go back to normal. Almost every year, sometimes more than once a year. Just yearly wind and rain and destruction, but we’d always make it through. It— I— I don’t remember what we’d do. Board games, I think. Reading...” He frowns. “I— I think that’s a good thing. That I don’t remember what it was like being stuck inside with my family. Means nothing bad happened. The— The good things are more vague to me. Shame, but... It’s good.”

“Really?” Deacon asks. “So you don’t remember your childhood?”

Rig hums. “Not— Not fully. Bits and pieces, but couldn’t tell you how old I was when anything happened. I remember being a mathlete for one year, because my brother was one but I wasn’t as good as him so no one cared. I remember winning writing contests instead. Short stories, poems, essays. Never first place, just... second place or lower. Remember catching lizards with the other neighborhood kids. The red beetles and love bugs that were dumb little things that were harmless and fun to play with. Staying up late and rarely hearing whip-poor-wills. Those were nice nights...”

He pauses a moment to eat more of his dinner and then continues. “Dad took me fishing, mom took me antiquing, brother took me to the movies the days he wasn’t being terrible. And sometimes the days he was. It was...” He sighs. “It was normal stuff, just... with some abnormal things that spoiled the rest of it. I— I think that’s what I liked about living here with Rig. It was normal, domestic stuff. It felt like how people were supposed to be, except he liked me but never admitted to it so I pretended he only loved me as a friend. Because that was safer. Because— Because I just want to be safe and happy. I only had my parents and brother so I never had a good family. I just wanted to pretend with Rig and...” He tilts his head and glances at Nick. “It’s— It’s okay that I’m pretending with you, right?”

“Of course,” Nick says. “I’m happy for it. Always wanted a son.” He frowns. “But you didn’t have any other family...? No grandparents or aunts or uncles?”

“Never met my mom’s family,” Rig says. “They lived in other states and we never had the chance to meet. And Dad’s... met them when I was younger, but they didn’t like my mom. And when my aunt and grandma died, Dad got bitter with his dad and other siblings. Started seeing them less and less...” He hums. “Your... niece and nephew lived in Florida.”

“What?” Nick asks. “What makes you say that?”

“Their kitchen,” he says. “In the photo I dropped? Built the same as the one I grew up with. Builder was a Florida company. So they lived somewhere in Florida. S’why I dropped it. Startled me that it looked so similar.”

“Huh,” Nick says. “Maybe we should have you be a detective instead of a secretary.”

“Nooo,” Rig whines.

“I’m kidding,” Nick smirks.

“Well,” Deacon grins. _“I,_ for one, appreciate that the Valentine Detective Agency is a _family-run_ business.”

Echo snorts. “You realize this means my ‘brother’ is dating my ‘step-son’.”

“You’re right,” Deacon says. He leans towards Rig and smirks. “You cradle robber, dating your step-mom’s brother at your age.”

Rig frowns. “I’m 35.”

“Plus 212 years,” Deacon adds.

“I don’t count the years I was asleep,” Rig says. “I wasn’t alive for those. I’m a time traveller. Just can only travel one direction.” He yawns. “Nnn, speaking of sleeping.”

“Alright, Rigs, time for bed,” Deacon chuckles. “Sleepyhead.”

Rig smiles. He looks at Nick and Echo. “Make sure you keep an eye on the candles and blow ‘em out if you plan on sleeping.”

“We got it covered, Rigbert,” Echo laughs. “Go sleep.”

Rig nods and stands up. He waits for Deacon to shovel the last of his dinner into his mouth and then takes Deacon by the hand and leads him to his bedroom.

Echo leans back in her chair to watch the door close and then takes off her sunglasses and sets them on the table. “So now that the _kids_ have gone to bed...” she smiles up Nick.

Nick chuckles. “Right. Come here then.” He leans over and kisses her, and she rests her arms on his shoulders and slips onto his lap. “You’ve been quiet today,” he mumbles against her lips.

“Later,” she mumbles back, resting a hand on the back of his head while his hand loosens her hair tie. “Just hold me a bit.”

“Would you like to move to the living room, Miss Gray?” Nick smiles.

“That means moving, Valentine,” Echo counters. She smiles as she locks eyes with him and her free hand holds onto Nick’s exposed, metal one. “Steal any more books lately?”

“You mean from the old Rig’s room?” Nick asks. “That one I stole before wasn’t for me.”

“Uh-huh,” Echo smirks. “Sure it wasn’t. What was the title again? _‘Eros and the Detective’?”_

“It wasn’t for me,” Nick repeats. He clears his throat. “A bit less literary merit than I prefer.”

Echo laughs. “Uh-huh. Sure.”

Nick rolls his eyes. He leans in to kiss her again, and they spend a few moments in the moment before they settle for holding onto each other, still seated at the dinner table.

“You should try to get some sleep,” Nick says at last.

“Where?” Echo asks. “The old Rig’s bed? Not sure I want to dip into his memories more than I have.”

They pause when they hear a door open and watch Deacon slip away in a hurry.

“Huh,” Nick says. “Suspicious.”

“I don’t want to know,” Echo deadpans. She sighs. “Maybe we ought to move to the living room after all...” She stands up and picks up her glasses and then holds out a hand. Nick accepts the help up and Echo blows out the candles before the two of them walk through the dark to the living room.

Nick shrugs off his coat and hands it to Echo to use as a blanket. “I’ll be right back,” he says. “I’ll be out front.”

“Don’t take too long,” Echo says. She curls up on the couch, staring at the darkened television across from her. She wonders for a moment what unsolved mystery shows Rig watched before she closes her eyes and attempts to sleep.

* * *

Rig leads Deacon to his old bedroom in his old home. It’s been such a calm night, so comforting and domestic between the kitchen being used for the first time in who knows how long, the candlelit dinner shared with Echo and Nick, and now getting to sleep in his own bed one last time...

“You ever think you’d share your bed with someone?” Deacon whispers as he closes the door behind them.

Rig looks over Deacon in the light of the moon coming in through the window. Strong, handsome, wearing his sunglasses as always. Rig pulls Deacon into a hug. “...Can— Can I be honest ‘bout something?”

“With me?” Deacon chuckles. “Always.”

“I, um...” Rig clears his throat. “Had some... nice dreams of us together here... But— But I can’t actually... Do stuff like that. Kissing is bad enough. Hard to separate it from the sex or romance version of kisses.”

“...Oh,” Deacon says, voice a bit high. “You— I still don’t know how to read you. You really know how to change the game every time I think I know how you work, don’t you?”

“I’m...” Rig giggles, nervous and tugging Deacon towards the bed. “Curious how it... works. But I can’t do it. Which is stupid. I know I don’t want to do it, so it sucks that dream mind says I do and body parts try to convince me it’d be a good idea.”

“We’re not going to do it if you don’t want to,” Deacon says, sitting next to Rig on the edge of the bed.

“Which is good,” Rig says. “I trust you. But it’s just a weird— weird way bodies work. S’why I rather not have a body. But— I feel good. About— About you, about this, about being here one last time. I was gonna regret it if I... said nothing about it, how I feel. If— If I could. If I wanted to in a real, physical place. I would, if you wanted too. But I can’t. That’s— That’s not— I don’t want to disappoint you about it.” He frowns. “I don’t know what you want, just what I don’t want.”

“No, you’re fine,” Deacon says. “You have boundaries, and I’m okay with those boundaries. I just— Wow. Didn’t think you’d actually... _know_ what sex is.”

“Shhh,” Rig hisses. “Don’t actually say it!”

“You said it already,” Deacon laughs.

“...Oh, right, I did.”

Deacon chuckles and cups Rig’s cheek. “You... scare me. I actually want to be honest with you. You’re so honest with me, and I feel guilty I can’t return the favor. Even though I know you don’t care.”

Rig squints. “Why do I scare you...?”

Deacon doesn’t answer for a moment. “Can I kiss you?”

“Only if it’s an actual kiss and not a raspberry again.”

Deacon laughs. “Still haven’t forgiven me, huh? Alright, come here.” He holds Rig by the chin and presses their lips together. He steals a few kisses before Rig pats his arm and he pulls back. “I like being able to predict people,” Deacon says. “I don’t know how to predict you. You’re so easy to read, theoretically. Because you’re honest to a fault and I feel like I know you. But you then do something completely unexpected that, if I really think about it, makes sense for you to do. It’s...” He chuckles. “It’s like a good book. One where you think you know what the ending will be but completely blindsides you with something that makes so much sense. You scare me _so much,_ and I wanted to run so many times but you keep convincing me to stay. Because I want to see how this story ends.” He frowns. “I’m just... afraid I’ll be the one to ruin the story for both of us. Because you only tell truths and I only tell lies.”

“Like the riddle about the two guards,” Rig quips. “Except saying you only tell lies is a paradox because if that were true, that sentence should be a lie too which is a contradiction.”

Deacon laughs. “C’mon, I’m supposed to be the clever jokester here. I’m going to have to sue you if you keep infringing on my brand.”

“You’re like Schron- Shronen—” Rig pouts. “The— The guy who put a cat in a box.”

“Schrodinger?” Deacon asks.

“Schrodinger’s liar,” Rig says. “Everything you say is simultaneously true and false because I’m not smart enough to tell the difference. So— So I can’t tell if that’s you telling me the truth, about why I scare you. But— But I...” He hums. “I’m glad you... want to stay regardless... And I’m glad I’m not the only one afraid of doing this wrong. I don’t know how to do relationships. I want to...” He sets a hand on Deacon’s thigh. “I want to do things I’ve never done before, but it feels safer not to do them. More comfortable. Everything about this is... scary and new. I’m not...” He frowns. “I’m not attracted to you like _that._ But I... hear you talk and say words and get all... Uh...”

Deacon grins. “Oh, Rigsby, are you saying you get _hot and bothered_ when I tell you a good enough pun? You really do have a _word fetish.”_

Rig groans. “Yeahhh... Kinda... Just want you to say something _really creative_ and _clever as heck_ and then do things to me that I’d need to take my clothes off for, as uncomfortable as that is.”

_“That’s_ your foreplay?” Deacon grins. “Well, if you wanted to, I’d be game, but you don’t want to, so...”

“Nope,” Rig agrees. “Except— Maybe I do?”

“A maybe isn’t a yes,” Deacon says. “So. Sleep?”

“Words,” Rig says. He moves to straddle Deacon’s lap and rests his arms on his shoulders, pouting down at him. “I want words, please. Tell me something clever and kiss me like you love me.”

Deacon smirks. “You sure about the kissing?”

“...No,” Rig says. “But I want to... hands. Hands are yes. I want to touch and be touched and held. Tactile. I want tactile stuff. And words.”

“You’re sure about the hands?”

“Mmm, yeah,” Rig says. “Yeah. And maybe the kissing, but I need to see what it’s like to decide.”

“Well alright,” Deacon says. “Skin contact or through fabric?”

“...Skin contact with shirts still on.”

“Okay,” Deacon smiles. “Get yourself comfortable first. Kneeling like that won’t be fun for too long.”

“I want to lie down,” Rig says. “Lie down with me?”

“Whatever you want, Rigs.”

The two of them lie together on the bed and Deacon takes off his sunglasses and sets them on the bedside table. He slips a hand under Rig’s shirt and rests it on his back.

“So far so good?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Rig says. He looks down at Deacon’s chest. “And— And I can...?”

“Anything above the waist,” Deacon smiles. “No punches below the belt just yet.”

“Okay,” Rig says. He slips his own hands up Deacon’s shirt and places his hands flat on Deacon’s stomach. He giggles. “Oh, _gosh,_ you have a body.”

“I’m a corporeal being,” Deacon says. “But one day I’ll be able to turn incorporeal at will and then I’ll be the best spy in all the Commonwealth.”

Rig focuses on his hands exploring Deacon’s chest. “You promised me words,” he reminds.

Deacon hums and then laughs and squirms closer to Rig. “Oh, you _do_ like touching, huh?”

“You feel nice,” Rig says. He shoves Deacon’s shirt up and out of the way for better access, exposing Deacon’s skin to the cool night air. “I’m— I like feeling things, and...” His warm hands slide over Deacon’s prickled skin. “You feel nice.”

_“God,_ you’re adorable.” Deacon traces Rig’s spine, causing Rig to squeal and arc his back and then giggle. “It’s great to know how you feel. Warm and soft and with your hands. You look so great with your 20/20 vision.”

Rig chuckles and shifts closer to Deacon. “Yes, good. That’s a good start.”

“...I heard you’re a fan of liars,” Deacon says. He makes a small noise at where Rig’s hands go and grins at Rig’s glance up to show it’s a good sound. “What great music, right? Plucking strings and spinning tales into a spider web beckoning _you,_ my little fly, into a truthful parlor several stories tall.”

“Tall tales,” Rig whispers in delight. “Yesss.”

“Yep,” Deacon grins and plants a kiss on Rig’s lips that Rig doesn’t shy away from. “Enough to fit every fibber and the size of every beast they caught. Those giant fish that got away and jabberwocks and those serpents with silver tongues...”

Rig rewards him with a kiss this time. A small peck on the lips, but a kiss nonetheless. To Deacon’s surprise, Rig wraps a leg around his and presses in as close as possible. “Good. Good, good, good.”

Deacon smiles at Rig, face warm in the dark as he watches the contentedness in Rig’s smile and shut eyes. He shifts a bit to hold Rig by the waist and kiss his neck. Rig squeaks but then laughs and he eagerly pulls Deacon over top of him. Deacon takes that permission to kiss him more.

“Keep talking,” Rig whispers, sounding almost hungry for once as he peeks up at Deacon’s eyes. “Please. Something sweet and dark...”

Deacon chuckles. “Far be it from me to be disingenuous to a wide-eyed innocence about a narrow sight...” He slides a hand up Rig’s shirt to his chest while the other hand strokes Rig’s hair. “But I could swear on my honor that I’ve seen a shred of doubt. Pulled like wool over the eyes of a wolf crying in sheepish clothing.” He kisses Rig again, and Rig smiles and hums and wraps his arms around Deacon. Deacon speaks low and emphatically. _“White and hot_ and through one’s _teeth,_ in _mirrors and smoke_ before the fire _burning_ in one’s every _pant._ Far be it from me to _yank the chain_ on false, stretched hoods, but I would surely _bend_ for you and take you for any _ride_ you please...”

Rig almost purrs with the staccato moan in the back of his throat. He looks up at Deacon, expression soft in the moonlight as he reaches to stroke Deacon’s cheek. “...You’re into this too, aren’t you?”

Deacon smiles. “Wouldn’t be doing it if I wasn’t...”

“...Double entendres?” Rig asks, glancing down Deacon’s body pressed against his own.

Deacon clears his throat and kisses Rig one final time. “We should stop now, huh?”

“Yeah,” Rig agrees. “It was— I liked that. Those were good words. Good— Good feelings. Maybe I can return the favor sometime.”

“I’m glad.” Deacon climbs off of Rig and stands. “I’m... going to take care of something real quick.”

“Okay,” Rig says, still lying in bed. “Thank you.”

Deacon smiles down at him. He grabs his sunglasses and puts them on as he escapes the room.

Rig takes a deep breath. “...I cannot _ever_ go any farther than that,” he mumbles. “That was good, but... Wouldn’t like anything more... Good words, though.” He rolls onto his side and laughs softly. “Real— Real good words. Yeah.”


	3. Sometimes You Go on a 80k Word Adventure, Sometimes Things Take Like Two Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The squad gets to PITS and take care of that evidence of Rig's dead name. That was easy... Perhaps too easy....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for mentions of abuse and thoughts of suicide

Sunlight and bird song come in through the window of a quaint, blue kitchen this calm, summer morning. He puts a song on the radio and dances around to the muffled words and distance melody. He notices Deacon watching, leaning against the doorway having come from the backyard, dirt on his face and polo shirt. He laughs and holds out a hand, and Deacon walks up to dance with him.

One circle around, and he sees the kitchen just as he remembered it— _“Oh, that’s right, this isn’t real.”_

Another circle around, and this time a man dressed in black and a wide-brimmed hat with a face full of flashing static is standing at the counter and looking around at the kitchen.

He lets go as the dream Deacon disappears, and he offers a “morning” to the static man.

_“apollo,”_ the man greets him. _“this is a different kitchen than normal. blue instead of yellow.”_

__

“I can still make tea,” Apollo says, going to his kettle to fill it. “You want tea? You always come for tea.”

_“i have a few moments i suppose,”_ static man says. _“i do have to leave soon. before Samara wakes.”_

“You can take the tea to go,” Apollo nods resolutely. He gets the kettle started and prepares the mugs. “I mean— Can you? If’s dreams and all.”

_“don’t ask me how my powers work,”_ static man says.

“Okay,” Apollo replies, jovial and grinning. He leans against the counter. “You know, I like it when I see you in my dreams. Lets me know it’s dream time. Also I like your face. Have I told you that before? I don’t know who you are, but you have a good face.”

_“...oh,”_ the man utters, sounding perhaps a bit confused. He walks over to the counter and picks up his mug. _“i’ll go ahead and take this now. thank you, apollo.”_ He lifts his mug in acknowledgement.

“You’re welcome, bye,” Apollo waves.

The man vanishes, leaving Apollo alone in his kitchen with a ticking timer and his cup of tea and the music on the radio even more muddled than before. The timer dings...

...Whoever is in the kitchen is by no means being quiet. Echo groans and turns onto her side, dragging the pillow over her ears to drown out the sound of cabinets closing and spoons clinking in coffee mugs.

_“Sunlight, waking up to the morning,”_ a voice sings from the kitchen. _“Daylight, honey, I’ve got to go...”_

She groans and sits up, seeing the TV on an infomercial and instinctively standing to turn it off with a mumble of “musta fallen asleep” that sounds familiar but isn’t quite her own voice.

_“Birds sing, tweeting their love songs. Singing, honey, I love you so...”_

She looks around, seeing Rig’s old living room... clean and put together in the morning daylight behind closed curtains. Ah. She’s in one of Rig’s echoes.

She follows the script, an actress on Rig’s stage, into the kitchen where the old, blond Rig makes breakfast.

“Apollo!” he greets her. “Fell asleep on the couch again, huh? I don’t know why you watch those mystery shows so late at night.”

“I like them,” she answers, smiling but sleepy. “I used to love reading mystery books.”

“Well, you didn’t wake up in time to make breakfast,” he says. “So hope you don’t mind that I’m taking your job and cooking today.”

She hums and looks at the food cooking. And burning. “Rig, you need to flip that.”

“Oh, shit,” he rushes to the stove.

She laughs. “Start the kettle for me, please,” she says before shuffling off to the bathroom to wash her face. In the privacy of the bathroom, she takes in a deep breath. Okay. So far so good. But whatever memory this is, there has to be something emotional attached to it... Hopefully a happy one this time around. She splashes water on her face, towels it dry, and then looks up at her reflection, seeing Rig’s face in place of her own. Cleaner, more recently shaved, not nearly as haunted or tired as the current Rig’s face. She thumbs under the bottom of her lip and feels a small bump and looks closer in the mirror. That’s right. He has a small scar there...

“Apollo!” other Rig calls from the kitchen. “We have company!”

“Be right there!” she calls back. She takes another breath and then walks back out and back to the kitchen. She stops and flutters her eyes in surprise before frowning at the man standing in the kitchen with old Rig cooking in the background. A familiar man with static for a face. Before she can say anything, the man looks back and forth in surprise.

_“i just left this kitchen,”_ he says. _“why am i back in this kitchen?”_

“Ah,” she says, none too happy. There goes her script. “It’s you.”

The man is quiet for a moment. Though she can’t see past the static of his face, she can tell he’s opening and closing his mouth in search of the right word. _“Samara.”_ He tips his hat. _“i was beginning to wonder if i’d catch you before you woke.”_

She sighs loudly. “Right...” She stares at the mug of tea in his hands and looks back at the kitchen behind him. “So. I take it you just came from Rigsby’s.”

He sits down in a chair and idly sips his tea. “ _indeed.”_

She rolls her eyes and rubs her forehead. “Mmmm. You know, I _neeeever_ know if you showing up is either a curse or—”

_“it’s how you make it, dear,”_ he says before clearing his throat. _“good to see this one isn’t a nightmare.”_

“ _Sure as hell turning into one,”_ she mutters as she plops down in the farthest chair from him in the room. “So.” She claps her hands. “Whatcha warning me about this time, Pops?” she asks, sliding in her seat. “Irradiated fog that’ll drive you mad? Giant praying mantis? A cult?” She leans on her hand and sends him a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “What do I owe this to, hm?”

He sips his tea, again searching for the right words before answering...

_“be wary going to delphi. danger lies in the smoke.”_

* * *

Rig watches the window of his bedroom, Deacon lying beside him though he doesn’t know if he’s asleep or not. The world is still dark outside, but something woke him and he isn’t sure what... He steps out of bed, but something grabs his hand, and he looks down at Deacon, awake and watching him.

“Something wrong?” Deacon whispers, letting him go.

“Did you hear that thing at the window?” Rig asks.

“Nope.” He smiles. “Not afraid of a monster, are you?”

“Always,” Rig says. “Monsters are real. Some of them can be reasoned with. Ghosts too. Ghosts are real.”

“Oh, I know from experience that ghosts are real,” Deacon frowns. “Not a fun weekend getaway, that one.”

“Gonna go talk to Nick,” Rig says. “Be right back.”

“Don’t take too long,” Deacon says. “Don’t want your spot getting cold.”

Rig chuckles and wanders out through the dark house, feeling along the wall so he doesn’t trip. He sees a candle flickering in the living room and heads there, finding Nick sitting on the couch, reading a book while Echo sleeps with her head in his lap and with Nick petting her hair. Rig eyes the book and its title. _“Eros: Partners in Crime”_

...Well, okay then.

Rig shuffles in and sits in the nearby arm chair. Nick looks up at him and closes the book, setting it aside.

“You’re up late,” he whispers.

“Did you hear anything weird outside?” Rig whispers back.

“No,” Nick says. “You sure you didn’t dream it?”

“Might of,” Rig yawns. “Don’t remember my dreams all the time...” He glances at Echo and then back up at Nick. “Was wondering... Why’d you— Well. Why the old Nick never visited his family in Florida? If he were close enough to have photos...”

Nick hums softly. “It just became one of those things where you keep making excuses and putting it off. ‘We can’t go to Chicago this year, the kids have band camp.’ ‘I can’t see you in Florida, I have a case.’ ‘We can’t afford to this year, the car needs fixing.’ ‘Don’t come right now, the storms are too bad.’ Next thing you know, the kids are grown up and in college and you don’t even know if they know you exist.”

“If you had... phone calls...?” Rig pauses a moment. “Then I... can’t imagine the kids wouldn’t at least be aware that you existed. I don’t know if they’d know your name... I never knew my aunts and uncles names... Or if I did, I forgot them.”

“Mm...” Nick watches Rig wring his hands in his lap. “Why so curious all of a sudden?”

“They were from Florida,” Rig says. “I could have known them. I could have met you. Maybe it wouldn’t have changed anything, but... I dunno.” He shrugs. “If there’s gods out there, and if one is in charge of my fate in particular... With all the coincidences meeting Mongoose and Lady and Angle again, being named Apollo and being fed something called Ambrosia that made me immortal... That would have been another weird coincidence, right...? My life seems full of ‘em.” He looks down at Echo. “...Sorry for waking you.”

“Ehn,” Echo says, one eye open to watch the conversation. “You didn’t wake me. Stop apologizing for everything.”

Rig shrugs. “Gonna go back to bed, ‘kay? Night.”

“Good night,” Nick says.

Rig wanders away again and Nick looks down at Echo.

“He gave my dad tea again,” Echo sighs.

Nick sighs and shakes his head. “Where’d we go wrong raising that boy?”

Echo smiles and shuts her eyes again. “Whelp. Night. Have fun with that romance novel.”

Nick sputters. “I already said. It’s not for _me.”_

_“Sure_ it isn’t, Nick. Sure it isn’t.”

* * *

They start out the next morning with Rig leading the way to the PITS Pleasantview campus with Deacon at his side and Echo and Nick following behind them. Rig looks around at everything as they go. Old, abandoned buildings. Signs of people that had been there before. Old statues and monuments for people long forgotten. Modern day Ozymandiases...

He sighs. “Do you think, if he was there, he’s still there now?”

“Who?” Deacon asks. “Ninety? Nah, I bet he got bored and left ages ago. Maybe that letter you got was him saying good-bye!”

“Hope so,” Rig sighs. “Right— Right triangles... Scalene or isosceles. Can’t be equilateral or obtuse. Other two angles total 90 degrees. If isosceles, both angles are 45 degrees. All three angles total 180 degrees, true for all triangles. Hypote— hypotononunuse... Python gorilla tortilla...”

“Well you started out convincing me you were a mathlete,” Deacon chuckles. “And then you ended proving why you aren’t anymore.”

“Math is only fun if I _choose_ to do it,” Rig pouts. “Hate competitions or school work. Just give me two numbers and let me multiply them or something.”

“52 and 83,” Nick calls.

“...4,316,” Rig says. “Divisible by 2, 4, 13, 26, 52, 83— 83 is prime. It’s a gross number and I’m disappointed in you for giving me that one. 52 is good though, one of my favorites, so you’re forgiven.”

_“Oh,”_ Nick scoffs. “Well, sorry for forgetting you have opinions on _numbers.”_

“Numbers are _good,”_ Rig says. “They’re terrible, horrible things that the invention of which simultaneously brought about civilization and also gave people the means to destroy civilizations. Numbers are awful and I love them. Some of them are better than others for arbitrary reasons that some people don’t agree with. These people are wrong.” He looks at Deacon. “S’jokes...”

“Oh, good,” Deacon grins. “Because _my_ favorite number is 37.”

Rig gasps in offense. “We have to break up right now this instant.”

Deacon laughs. “C’mon, Rigsby, you wouldn’t leave me over something like prime numbers or liking coffee, would you?”

“You like _coffee?”_ Rig shakes his head. “Nooo, that’s terrible...” He smiles and laughs. “Noooo, how could you?”

Echo laughs and shakes her head. “Rigs, what’s your favorite polygon?”

Rig’s smile fades a bit. “...Triangles. They’re— they’re the perfect shape. Stable. All other polygons can be split into triangles if you try hard enough. Three sides, three points, the lowest amount needed to form a polygon. Three sides, and it _has_ to be a triangle. Can’t have a triangle that’s irregular or a triangle that’s concave. Three is just— It’s a good number. Things divisible by three makes me happy. Rule of threes. Three is one of the three prime numbers I like. Triangles are just. Good, happy things...”

“Hmm,” Deacon smirks. “You really know how to turn a guy on.”

“What?!” Rig asks, pulling away in disgust. “No!”

Deacon laughs. “I’m kidding.”

“You better be,” Nick frowns. “That’s my son you’re talking to. You better not be getting fresh with him.”

Rig immediately looks away from Deacon. Deacon looks straight ahead. Nick sends the two of them a flat look and Echo clears her throat.

“I _don’t_ want to know,” she says. 

“There’s nothing to know,” Deacon says. “Don’t worry about it.”

“What does getting fresh mean?” Rig asks. “No clue. No idea.” He glances back at Nick. “Don’t actually answer though, I don’t think I need to know.”

“Wait, you were serious?” Nick asks.

“Eh,” Rig shrugs. He points up ahead. “PITS mascot statue. Some kinda wasp thing. We’re almost there.”

“Do you know where to find whatever it is you’re looking for?” Echo asks. “We never actually asked you what it was...”

“...There’s a poem,” Rig says. He stops in front of the Wily Wasp and looks up into the broken glass of its compound eyes. “One that _she_ wrote in her first and only year. Hanging in the library with the other winners of the contest over the years. The contest _I_ won the following year. _My_ photo on the wall next to _hers._ Someone once told me how I looked so similar. Like her brother.” He looks down at the plaque underneath the wasp. 

_“To call a fig a fig, a trough a trough.”_

Rig feels sick in the pit of his stomach. “After I left, they followed the poems I submitted to Lab Legato. Kept asking me, as alumnae, to come back and present some at, I dunno, different events. Reminding me that I won a few of the contests, that the writing club would love to have me there for a day. And— 2077, Spring semester, Rig put me up to finally go back and do a thing since it was the 30th anniversary of the contest or something and I had won a few years in my time there. Someone brought up how similar my photo looked to a previous year’s winner, asked if I knew her... If— If Cherbridge knew I went to Transparency. Then they knew what I went there for. And if they knew my poems from Lab Legato and the contests at PITS and looked at the photos for the poetry winners, they would have been able to make a guess about...”

He stops and turns to look at them. “You’re not allowed to come with me into the library. I know where the photos and names and whatever are, but you can’t come with me—”

“Rig, we’re not going to look,” Echo promises. “But we need to go in with you. There’s supposed to be radroaches and radscorpions around. To say nothing about Ninety.”

Rig grimaces. “Can... only one of you come in with me?”

Deacon grins. “I wouldn’t say no to a private library date.”

“Can _Nick_ be the one who comes in with me?” Rig clarifies.

Deacon’s grin vanishes and he looks to Nick who looks equally surprised.

“Well, sure,” Nick says. “If that’s what you want, but why?”

“Because Echo always sees everything I do,” Rig says. “And I don’t want to risk Deacon seeing it.”

Deacon frowns. “Rigs, I thought you trusted me.”

“But you might accidentally see it,” Rig insists. “It’s not like you can just— just— turn off reading ability. You don’t just look at a sign that says ‘don’t read this sign’ and not read that sign.” He rubs his arm and looks away. “I— I obviously trust you. Last night was me trusting you. But I don’t want to feel like there was a chance you saw that photo or name, okay?”

“But you’re okay with Nick potentially seeing it?” Deacon presses on.

“He’s my _dad,”_ Rig says. He sighs. “Let’s just... This is a bad idea, let’s just go home.”

“Rig, it’s fine,” Nick says. “You show me to the library and we’ll take care of things. These two can explore on their own in the meantime.”

“Okay,” Rig says. “If you’re sure...”

“We’re sure,” Echo says. “Deeks, you’re with me.”

Deacon smiles. “Yeah... Sunglasses squad, on their own once again.”

Rig cracks a smile. “Habe— Have fun.” He looks at Nick and the points. “Library’s that way.”

Nick and Rig head off for the library while Echo and Deacon head through the campus. The “Sunglasses Squad” search through old offices and classrooms, reading terminals and sorting through the occasional holotape and dealing with any threats they find. So far, nothing but the promised roaches and scorpions without a Ninety in sight...

“He knows I wouldn’t use it against him, right?” Deacon mumbles, more to himself than to Echo.

Echo looks up from the terminal she’s hacking into and frowns. “You _really_ wanted to go in there and see it.”

“No use lying to you, huh?” Deacon asks. He picks up a dusty baseball lying in the corner and tosses it up and down. “Miss ‘Can tell when anyone is lying’.” He frowns. “He trusts me, right? He’s honest about everything else. It’s making me nervous, that I’m not allowed to know it.”

“Hey, no,” Echo scolds. “Deeks. _Listen._ Remember how you kept trying to figure out my name? This shit be different. As far as he’s concerned, that name belongs to a completely different person who _does not exist._ Learning my name was a risk because of _you-know-why_ which is why I had to have the secrecy. This, with Rig? _Ain’t like that._ ”

“It’s not like I’d _use_ it,” Deacon says. He drops the ball and it rolls away. “I know better than that. It’s not information anyone else needs to know.”

“And what makes you the exception?” Echo asks. “Just because you’re dating him doesn’t mean you get to cross this one boundary he’s made loud and clear to all of us—”

“I already know it,” Deacon interjects. The silence that follows is unbearable like the sweat on his brow. “I saw it at Cherbridge on one of the terminals we hacked and deleted the info on. But Nick _doesn’t_ know it. It would have been safer for him to bring me.”

“...But you can’t tell him you know it,” Echo surmises. “Because you don’t know him well enough to know if he’d be okay with that.”

He rubs the back of his neck, shrugging casually. “He knows I’m lying about everything but trusts me anyway for reasons I still don’t understand. If I tell him I know it, either he’ll think I’m being an asshole saying I do when I don’t or he’ll be worried about the fact possibly I know it. Either way, it might be enough for him to lose whatever trust he has in me.” He sighs. “I couldn’t scare him away trying to tell him the terrible things I did, and somehow, now that we’re dating? I don’t want to do something stupid that’ll scare him away now.”

“Two people, both unlike in honesty,” Echo says. “In fair Commonwealth, where we lay our scene.”

Deacon hums. “...From ancient fears, break to new modesty,” he states after a few seconds of thinking. “Where knowing truths makes knowing names obscene. From forth the fated vaults of these two beaus, a set of foolish choices cause their strife; whose misadventured transitions juxtapose the clashing way they chose to live their life.”

“The hidden secrets in their odd-form’d love,” Echo continues. “And the continuance of their life-long fears, which, but an honest talk, naught could improve, is now the expert advice of their peers; the which if you with lying tongues depend, what trust you break, an honest talk could chance to mend.”

“I can’t be honest with him,” Deacon says. “He couldn’t even tell if I was being honest with him last night.”

“Were you?” Echo asks.

“I don’t even know.”

Meanwhile, Nick and Rig get to the library and find the door already broken into. Rig runs a hand through his hair and sighs.

“You—” He glances up at Nick. “You know _why_ I wanted _you_ to come, right?”

Nick frowns. “Kid, I’m a _detective._ I had my suspicions back in the office, but you’ve not been slick about how you’ve been asking.”

“I’m not trying to be,” Rig admits. “But you didn’t indicate if you knew or not, but I didn’t want to just... _say_ it. It’s bad enough you know _of_ the name, to say nothing about whether or not you knew who it was attached to...”

“And that’s why you want to be my ‘son’ rather than my ‘nephew’,” Nick says. “Because it’s easier to distance yourself from it that way.”

Rig nods. “Yeah... Is that stupid? That feels stupid.”

“It’s not stupid,” Nick assures. “Maybe there are better ways to go about it, but there are worse ways too.” He frowns. “Running away and never talking to me again, for one thing. Nephew or son, if you’re the only family I’ve got left from the original Nick’s life, I don’t want to lose you, kid.”

“Yeah...” Rig sighs. “Well... We should look for that thing I mentioned, huh? The— The whole reason we came here in the first place...” He frowns. “Just... Feels so easy, compared to last time. Last time was a whole ordeal that took forever. This one... two days? Really?”

“Not every adventure is a grand one,” Nick chuckles. He follows Rig in, keeping an eye out for any other threats that might jump out at them. “So... Your family was bad to you, huh? Your brother especially.”

“You know how siblings are supposed to fight?” Rig asks. “This wasn’t... fighting.” He frowns. “This was— was him trying to control us. He hurt mom too. Dad never hurt her or us, but my brother would hurt me or her just for disagreeing with him or telling him no. But Dad was no help, coming home drunk almost every night. Gaslighting me when he was sober. Saying I shouldn’t call for help when my brother tried to hurt me over stupid things like him losing his keys or a lint brush being dirty...” He pauses at the display of occult and horror stories and various Halloween decorations, and he picks up a stray tarot card on the table and pockets it without looking at what it is. “And Mom was the one who kept insisting we give my brother another chance, that she couldn’t force him to move out once he was old enough because he’s her son and she can’t force him to fend for himself since he was bad with money and in debt. I... don’t think she would have accepted me as a son either. She thought it was weird enough I didn’t want to date. She’s the one I resent the least, but...”

“She never told me you went missing,” Nick frowns. “Not even when I moved to Boston. She said nothing about you having gone to school here at PITS. She just stopped talking about you at some point and I didn’t think to ask why... She never even told me what your brother had been doing to you...”

Rig snorts. “Hard to pretend you’re not failing at being a parent if you’re telling everyone you can’t control your own son. Feel like that was a lot of it... That they were too proud to admit that they couldn’t make him behave and that it’d be safer for everyone to make him leave. ‘Stead they lost the one good child they had.” He scowls. “The one they never appreciated. You know I couldn’t ever make mistakes? If I spent my own money on anything they didn’t approve of, they treated me like I was going to go into debt like my brother did. If I suggested that I wanted to die because I felt like no one cared about me, they would get mad at me instead.”

“That’s...” Nick frowns. “That’s not the right reaction to that.”

“It isn’t,” Rig says. “But I couldn’t even blame them for jumping to that. Because m’brother would threaten to run into traffic or threaten to hurt himself if we didn’t do what he wanted. After hurting _us_ stopped working, he manipulated us like _that_ because it’s a serious thing— we couldn’t just assume he was faking it because what if he wasn’t? So of course _I_ wasn’t allowed to be serious about it because what if _I_ was faking it. And I _still_ sometimes want to just... not exist anymore, but no, I’m functionally immortal now and stuck having a body when I just...” He stops when Nick places a hand on his shoulder. He sighs and leans into Nick’s side. “Sorry. I’ll stop.”

“If you need to talk about it, you’re allowed to talk about it,” Nick assures. “I’m fine. I just want to make sure _you_ are too.”

“M’not,” Rig says. “Don’t know if I ever will be.”

“I understand that feeling,” Nick frowns. “I’m sorry that I— Well, that the old Nick had no idea about any of this. If he knew, I’m sure he would have done something for you.”

“But then we wouldn’t be here now,” Rig says. “I wouldn’t be Apollo Ray. And I like being Apollo Ray. And not that old name...” He motions at a wall labeled “PITS POETS”.

Nick takes a quick glance over the wall, at the thirty some spots, some with labels torn, some with photos knocked into a pile on the floor, some with both. “Huh... Someone else must have gotten here before us...”

Rig nods, frowning as he walks up to the wall and inspects it for the years 2063 and 2062. “Someone with the same idea,” Rig adds. “Label’s already torn... Name’s already gone... We did come here for nothing...”

Nick digs through the pile of photos. “Not nothing...” He picks up a frame and breaks it open to pry the photo out. “This is still here...”

Rig turns his head towards the photo and then immediately looks away. “Ew, don’t want to see that...”

Nick fishes out a lighter. He catches the corner of the photo on fire and lets it burn to ash. Rig watches fire engulf the face of his old life, and he leans against the wall and smiles as the last of the photo burns away. Nick and Rig stand in silence for a moment. Nick looks from the ash on the floor to Rig.

“We’ll do that with the ones back in the office too,” he says.

Rig blinks. “What? No, I couldn’t make you do that—”

“You’re not making me,” Nick says. “They’re just photos of strangers, aren’t they? Just two children I don’t know and never met.”

Rig rubs his arm. “Yeah... Okay. Thank you.”

“Now let’s find the others and get back to Diamond City,” Nick says. “I think it’s safe to call this case solved.”

“Yeah,” Rig smiles. “Thank you.”

Nick smiles. “What else is family for?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Certain parts of this chapter were provided by glowstickia/falloutglow. Thanks to Glow for supplying Echo and Static Man's conversation as well as some of Echo's dialogue in her chat with Deacon
> 
> Add'l Note: Static Man is another character of Glow's, who she is letting me borrow.


	4. One More Date with Some Unwelcome Thoughts. Who Invited Those Guys?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's a bit more depression if it comes with a revelation, eh? One day it'll leave, but for Rig, that day is not today.

Rig sits with his journal open in front of him, his pen tapping the pages instead of writing words. It’s been a few days since the trip to PITS. A few days of living with the knowledge that somehow the original Nick Valentine was one of the uncles he never knew the name of. A few days of remembering what he and Deacon did in his bedroom and how much he enjoyed it and never wants to do it again, and a few days of wondering if he’ll hear from Ninety again after that last letter he sent.

Should the trip have been so easy? That the name was already gone, that they didn’t deal with many threats, that everything is fine, Deacon seems happy, Echo seems wary, Nick’s treating him like family, and that he’s sitting here with writer’s block and a sense of unease...?

...He still wants to run away.

Of course it’s not so easy.

He saw how upset Deacon looked about Rig not trusting him to go to the library with him. He doesn’t know what Echo is looking out for and it’s making him uneasy. He doesn’t want to be Nick’s family and never did because it’s been six hundred thousand million years and he’s still afraid of having a family after what he’s been through.

He shuts his journal and stands up and walks out. Echo calls after him that “you don’t have your shirt on!” but he closes the door and walks. He has a t-shirt on and that’s enough. He doesn’t want to be recognized today.

He keeps walking until he finds an empty, quiet place to himself, and he leans against a wall and inspects his hands. Weird things, bodies and their parts. He’s not a fan of them. Never has been. Hands, though. Hands are okay. He appreciates having hands. He rubs his thumb into his opposite palm, just to get some sort of tactile sensation. It’s not the same as feeling someone else’s body. It’s better. Safer. He doesn’t have to worry about making anyone uncomfortable or being uncomfortable.

...A few days ago, he had his own blood on one of his hands. Red, like any other human’s. Even if it supposedly isn’t human anymore. He was still human with the TST. The Ambrosia, though... Made it that he can’t die... That he has some sort of poisonous ichor in his body in place of blood.

He smiles despite himself and looks skyward. Not quite at the sun but at the brightness of the blue sky regardless. Of course he’d name himself Apollo and then deal with Ambrosia and ichor and being something besides human. He wants to be upset, by the audacity of this, of everything in his life. This kind of thing doesn’t happen to people.

But since when was he a person?

He runs his hands through his hair and sighs. There has to be somewhere he can run to without needing to know how to fight. Somewhere he can go to be forgotten like old gods who no longer matter. A modern day Ozymandias. Despair, then, that his works remain...

What does Ninety even want from him? Or was that letter his way of saying good-bye? Or his way of making Rig want to think about him for all he’s tried to forget him? If so, it’s working.

“Got a light?”

“No, sorry, don’t smoke,” Rig answers, looking up at a familiar face and the sunglasses hiding his eyes. Of course Deacon found him already. He waits for Deacon to settle against the wall next to him and then leans on his shoulder.

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” Deacon says, lighting a cigarette to smoke. “People will talk.”

“Surprised you recognized me without the shirt,” Rig mumbles.

“Well, it wasn’t easy,” Deacon chuckles. “But what kind of boyfriend am I if I can’t tell who you are even if you’re undressed?”

“Gross,” Rig says.

“Just like flesh skin,” Deacon counters.

“Yeah,” Rig says. “Exactly like flesh skin.”

“...So,” Deacon says. “What was it this time? Writer’s block getting you down?”

“Yeah,” Rig says. “And other stuff.”

“Want to talk about it?” Deacon drapes an arm around Rig’s shoulders. “I’m all ears. And several organs. A few toes. Maybe some fingers. At least one mouth...”

Rig furrows his brow. “I don’t... want to, no.”

“...Oh,” Deacon hums. “Weird. It must be bad then. You’re normally honest about everything.”

“Am I?” Rig asks. “I feel like I lie about everything...”

“He says to the liar,” Deacon counters. “Unless you’re telling me your name isn’t actually Rig Miller.”

“This may be a surprise,” Rig smiles. “But it isn’t.”

Deacon fake gasps. _“Nooo,_ you lied to me? Your own boyfriend?”

Rig laughs and gently nudges Deacon. “I like you. You’re silly.”

“Good.”

“Yeah.”

The two of them slip into a comfortable silence while Deacon smokes his cigarette and Rig watches the people walking past in the distance.

“It’s...” Rig frowns. “It’s weird, the priority there is to favor those considered human, when mind and soul need not flesh or blood as Valentine has proven. If I stand with poisoned blood, why should my humanity be a given? If I don’t have enough to love or lust, then where are my desires driven? I named myself after a god, after a bird, and after light. And now with ichor in my veins to reinvent my one birthright, I should think that at my core I will never be a person. I have no respect for family, or have a faith that’s certain.”

Deacon frowns. “Yeah...?”

“...It’s weird, the priority there is to favor those who share your blood,” Rig continues. “But if mine is fake and he has none, then what is the earthen mud that formed the fateful vessel opened so long ago that let loose the pain and agony that led us to what we know? That I cannot trust a family that descended from my same source despite once trusting this same man when I knew nothing of that course of ties and family lines that connect this laurel tree; this non-human mind and soul made up of memories, meeting a scarred and frightened man confused by humanity.” 

Deacon hums. “You do that a lot more than I realize...”

“Do what?” Rig asks.

“Say you’re not human or not a person,” Deacon says. He frowns at Rig’s sudden confused look. “You know that you _are,_ right? Both of those things?”

“No?” Rig asks. “No? I’m— I’m not, though.”

“What makes you think you aren’t?” Deacon asks. “You’re the one who is so quick to call synths and robots people. If you think Nick is a person, why do you think you’re not?”

“Because Nick _is_ a person,” Rig says. “And I’m not.” He frowns. “I don’t... understand the question? This— This isn’t recent. It doesn’t matter if I _am_ human, that doesn’t mean I’m a _person.”_

Deacon groans. “Right of course... Alright, how about instead you tell me what your definition of a person is?”

Rig frowns. “People... are— are beings who... I— I don’t know.” He steps away from Deacon. “I’m— I don’t have an answer for that. I don’t know what makes someone a person, I just know that _I’m_ not that.”

“Hey, no, look.” Deacon reaches for Rig’s hand, but Rig pulls away. “...Oh.”

“I’m— I’m gonna...” Rig looks down at Deacon’s hand and then up at Deacon’s face, obscured by sunglasses as usual and impossible for him to read... He turns and runs.

“Rig!” Deacon shouts after him, but Rig doesn’t stop.

Stupid.

_Stupid._

He’s such an _idiot._

Why did he think this was in any way a good idea?

He eventually finds a new place to hide, not even sure where he ran to at this point but he sure is there and sure is lost. He sits on the ground, knees pulled up to his chest, and stares at nothing as he wills his brain to shut off and stop thinking for a few hours. That’s where the problem is, really. He keeps thinking, and that’s dangerous. So is doing things without thinking, like running away from Deacon and getting lost, but... Since when could he win? Everything is rigged against him, it seems.

...But he’s _not_ a person. Why is that a problem?

...He picks numbers at random and busies himself multiplying them. It’s easier to focus on numbers than thoughts. Just any pair of numbers between 10 and 99...

The sky grows dark before he realizes with the sun setting behind the city’s outer walls. Someone walks up to him and takes a seat next to him and lights a cigarette. They sit there a moment before Rig looks to make sure it’s who he thought it was and not an imposter or someone with similar taste in clothing.

Nick watches him, waiting for him to say something first.

Rig looks straight ahead again, not ready to talk. Numbers... 52 and 14... 728.

“I can sit here as long as I need to, Rig.”

...18 and 25. ...450.

“You really scared Deacon earlier. Took a while to find you too.”

...74 and 90...

“You can’t keep running away like this, Rig. You’re 35. You should know better.”

“I don’t,” Rig mumbles. “Why should I? I don’t know even know how to be a person.”

Nick sighs. “Deacon mentioned that... Also said something about a poem you mentioned me in?”

Rig furrows his brow. “...Don’t remember what I said.”

“Of course not,” Nick sighs. “Come on, kid. What’s wrong? This doesn’t seem like you.”

Rig sighs. “I’m sad and stupid. That’s all.”

“You’re not stupid,” Nick frowns.

“But I am,” Rig argues. “Because I keep doing stupid things. You don’t want me to run away but that’s exactly what I did to Deacon and—” He glances Nick and the gold eyes glowing in the dark. “And... And what I want to do to you because... Everything is scary and none of it is what I ever wanted.” He swallows and wipes his eye. “Stupid— Stupid, it’s _stupid._ I hate everything about what happened. I’ve been put through too much pain because of _him_ that I can’t even trust the people I’m supposed to trust...”

“...Ninety?” Nick asks. “Or your brother...?”

_“Rig,”_ he spits out.

“Rig?” Nick asks, more confused this time.

“Rig!” he insists. “Because he— he never— he put me through _so much_ and I wasn’t even able to see it back then!” He looks at Nick, fear on his face. “You know what Ninety said? That— That the things _Angle_ told him were that I was— was smart, quiet, _obedient._ And Rig’s the one that would take me to Parsons to do work there I wasn’t even paid for. Rig made it awkward for me to just... just _live_ because he’d keep flirting with me and I _hated_ it and hated that Mongoose would act like it was _my fault_ I never liked Rig back. I spent the entire time before Pits trying to prove that Rig wouldn’t kill someone when he _actually did_ and then he just... _died_ and I didn’t get any closure. Not with him, not with Ninety, not with my _family...”_ He grimaces. “It— It makes me nervous to be around you, ‘round Deacon, ‘round Echo, just... waiting for something to happen that everything’s gonna go sour...” He groans and digs his hands into his hair, holding tight to clumps of it. “And I hate feeling that way because I know it will if I’m _expecting_ it and that you wouldn’t do any of that otherwise because I actually _love_ the three of you unlike everyone else I ever knew but I’m scared of being hurt again!”

“Rig,” Nick whispers. “Oh, Rig...”

“It’s just...” Rig tips to the side and falls into Nick’s side. Nick wraps an arm around him. “How could I possibly be a person, under these circumstances? If I’ve never gotten the chance to be one... Is that so wrong, to try to find comfort in that anyway? If I don’t have anything else I could be...”

They sit in silence for a few moments, just letting Nick hold Rig while Nick smokes. Rig shivers as the night’s chill settles in.

“...You need to talk to us about what’s wrong,” Nick says.

Rig frowns. “I— I talk a lot. I talk too much.”

“You talk about everything _besides_ what the actual problem is,” Nick points out. “About what people who aren’t in your life did to you. What about _us?_ You need to tell us what _we’re_ doing that’s hurting you if you want it to change.”

Rig winces. “I— I don’t...”

“Rig.”

“...want to... make you upset.” He grips onto Nick’s coat. “If— If I don’t act like you want me to act you might— I dunno, hurt me, get rid of me, not accept me. I already made that mistake with the science stuff.”

“Rig,” Nick sighs. “I promise you. None of us would do any of those things to you. You trust us, right? Then trust us that we want to make sure _you’re_ happy too. You don’t have to put everyone else’s needs ahead of yours all the time.”

“...Do I?” Rig asks. “I thought I was... being selfish...”

Nick laughs. “Rig, no, you’re— you’re not selfish.” He pats Rig’s shoulder. “Come on. It’s late and you’ve been missing all day. Deacon and Echo are worried and if we take too long to get back they’re bound to send Dogmeat out sniffing for you. And when we get back, maybe tell us what you’re worried about.”

“Open, honest communication,” Rig sighs. “I— I have a weird relationship with that concept...”

“Deacon does too,” Nick rolls his eyes. He smiles. “But it’s what’s let me and Echo get so close. I know it’s not something you were... able to do, with the people in your life walking all over you like that... but it’s different now. We’re mature and willing to listen. But you can’t run away from your problems. You have to talk to us, okay?”

Rig sighs and stands, groaning a bit from the ache of sitting in the same position for hours. “Okay... I— Okay...” He holds out a hand to help Nick up and looks up at him, brow furrowed. “I— I think part of the problem is I’m... not used to being allowed to be upset. So it’s just all.” He waves his hands. “Happening at once. Finally allowed to have emotions, and they’re all. Bad. ‘Motions.” He sighs. “So makes me scared to have bad ‘motions at the three of you...”

“Well, let’s start with me,” Nick says. He holds onto Rig’s arm and leads him back home. “What am _I_ doing wrong that’s making you uncomfortable?”

“Being my uncle,” Rig says.

Nick gives him a look. “More specifically?”

“S’just weird,” Rig answers. “You know a name I don’t want people knowing. You’re part of a family I never wanted to be a part of. I don’t know how much you’re like them between being both old Nick and actual Nick... I haven’t had _family_ in years. Not even family I adopted. Lady wasn’t really part of my life, and Mongoose and Rig were, uh... not the best.” He rubs his arm. “Just... it was easier to accept you as family before I knew you actually were, y’know? So I’ve just been going back and forth in my head on if this is a good thing.”

Nick frowns and hums. “Do you want to _not_ be my son?”

“No, shut up,” Rig pouts. “You’re my dad.”

“And not your uncle,” Nick says. “As far as I know, you only have three names. Apollo, Janus, and Rig. You’re my ‘son,’ and I never told you about my sister who doesn’t have children, especially since there’s no photos of said non-existent children.”

Rig frowns. “I thought we didn’t want me running away from things?”

Nick gives him a flat look. “I _meant_ in a literal sense.”

“Ohhhh,” Rig says. _“Ohhhh._ That—” He runs a hand down his face. “That makes so much more sense. I thought you meant... in general... That I shouldn’t i— ignore reality—”

“We’re not ignoring it,” Nick says. “We’re just changing how we reference it for your comfort. If it’s not hurting anyone... especially since it’s a life you’re not a part of and haven’t been for years...”

Rig sighs. “You’re saying words, and I don’t understand, but... Okay, I guess? B— But this is part of my problem with Deacon...”

“Oh?” Nick frowns. “How so?”

“Because I feel like I let him down,” Rig says. “Bringing you instead of him. The name wasn’t even there so I _could_ have brought him. I was working under the assumption you already knew it so it’d be safe. How do I explain it to Deacon?” He frowns. “...He— He knows the name, doesn’t he?”

“...Probably,” Nick answers. “Knowing him... It might be that the only one who doesn’t is Echo.”

Rig groans. “Ugh, at least it’s just you two. Isn’t even a good name. Apollo Ray is much better. Rig Miller, Janus Blue... Whatever, it’s gone, we don’t have to worry— Or do we? Is— Is it Deacon who... got rid of the name for me? Or someone else?”

“Try asking him,” Nick says. “I’m sure it was him. He did the same thing at the Sullivan building. But if it’ll make you feel better, then talk to him.”

“...You said I made him worry?” Rig asks.

“You made all of us worry,” Nick says. “You’re not in trouble, but next time you get overwhelmed like that, you need to stay in sight of us or somewhere we know you are until you calm down enough to talk about it. You’re going to need to talk with Deacon about this too.”

“Ughhhh.” Rig slumps into Nick’s side. “Ughhhhh.”

Nick rolls his eyes. They get back to Echo’s home and walk in to find Echo sitting in wait with Dogmeat in her lap. Dogmeat jumps down and runs up to Rig, barking excitedly. Rig smiles and pets him.

“Hi, hi, hi,” Rig laughs. “I’m back. Hi, Dogmeat. Hi.” He looks up at Echo and waves. “Um... Sorry. Nick told me to stop doing that running away thing...”

“I’m not mad,” Echo says, holding up her hands in peace. “Just disappointed.”

Rig sighs. “Yeah... Where’s Deacon?”

“Out,” Echo says. “He’ll be back later. You’re going to have to have a talk with him when he gets back, Rigbert.”

Rig slumps his shoulders. “I know... I made a mistake...” He slips past Dogmeat and over to his journal. “I don’t want him to be mad at me though... Being lucid isn’t fun...”

“It’s not,” Echo agrees. “But you need to stay lucid and learn better ways to handle things.” She rolls her eyes. _“He_ does too, to be honest. He might be gone all night.”

Rig flinches. “Oh...”

“Not because he’s mad,” Echo corrects. “But because he _also_ has a case of bad brain funk.” She waves jazz hands. “Because what’s the wastelands without trauma?”

“We’d be too powerful without it,” Rig says, flipping through his journal. “Because you have cool powers, I can’t die, Nick’s a cool robot, and Deacon’s good with words. If we didn’t have trauma, we’d be too powerful. We should become superheros. You’d make a good Silver Shroud.”

Nick groans and Echo grins.

“Damn right I would,” Echo laughs. “Nick, want to be Mister Mystery?”

“We’re not doing this again,” Nick says. “Save that for private, dear.”

Rig looks up at them in disgust. He sits down with his journal open to a blank page and picks up a pen and sketches out a face. “So... If he is gone all night, did he leave Lil’ Deacon, or...?”

“No, he took your son with him,” Echo says. “But you can cuddle with Dogmeat if you need to.”

Dogmeat barks in agreement.

“Thank you, Dogmeat,” Rig smiles and reaches over to scratch Dogmeat behind his ears. “You’re a good and wonderful person and I love you more than I loved anyone before in my life.”

The door opens again, and Deacon walks in, one hand behind his back. Dogmeat barks excitedly and Rig jumps to his feet.

“Deacon!” Rig gasps.

Deacon grins. “Oh, good! You found the runaway! Another case solved by the great Detective Valentine.”

“That’ll be 200 caps,” Nick answers.

Deacon sighs. “Can’t I get an employee discount?”

“That’s _with_ the employee discount.”

“Aww,” Deacon pouts. “I knew I should have joined the union.” He shuts the door behind him and shuffles in. “You good, Rigs?”

“I’m sorry, don’t be mad at me,” Rig answers instantly. “I was being stupid, but Nick talked with me and I’m not going to do that again, I’m sorry for making you worry, I shouldn’t have run off like that, I should have talked with you, I should have—”

“Woah, slow down,” Deacon chuckles. “You’re going to pop if you keep that up... You’re not mad at _me?”_

“No,” Rig says. “Why— Why would I be? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Aww...” Deacon produces a bouquet of blue-violet flowers from behind his back. “Then what am I supposed to do with these apology hubflowers?”

“Oh!” Rig gasps. “Those are _pretty._ I don’t know what these are but I love them?”

“Well, I _guess_ you can have them,” Deacon says, holding them out for Rig to take. He grins. “You should try eating one! They’re delicious.”

“Deacon!” Echo groans. “We already told you not to do that!”

“Do what?” Deacon asks. “It’s actually edible this time!”

Nick sighs. “Rig, don’t put those in your— And you’re already chewing, god dammit Rig.”

Rig chews slowly, his nose wrinkling in disgust the more he chews. “S’bitter,” he answers. “Why would you make me eat this? Zero stars.”

Deacon laughs. “That face is worth it. Also, I hope this is to...” He pulls out a bottle...

“Sunset Sarsaparilla!” Rig gasps. He takes the bottle and runs to their room. “Thanks, mine, not sharing.”

Deacon stares after him, hands spread in a “what the hell, Rig” fashion.

“Where’d you get that from?” Echo asks. “Don’t tell me you went to Goodneighbor and begged NoOne for one.”

“Your wish, my command,” Deacon answers. He goes over to where Rig had been seated and takes the chair, peering over the recently started sketch of what looks like Echo dressed as the Silver Shroud in Rig’s journal. He reaches down and pats Dogmeat who licks his hand. “So...” Deacon says. “You two know there’s someone outside watching this place?”

“What?” Nick asks. “I didn’t see anyone.”

“I’ve been holding down the fort,” Echo says. “Haven’t been outside since you said Rig ran off in case he came back here.” She frowns. “Now is this an immediate threat or...?”

“Well if we wake up and the place is being shot at or burning down...” Deacon shrugs. “Maybe sleep in shifts tonight. As soon as Rig’s asleep I can get out of bed without him noticing.”

“Well good thing I told him to stay within sight of us next time he has to step away,” Nick frowns. “We need to teach him to defend himself soon. He’s the one most at risk just on his lack of defensive skills alone.”

“The classic father-son activities,” Deacon says. “Teaching your kid to shoot a gun or use a flamethrower. As soon as Lil’ Deacon is big enough, I’ll teach him the fine art of sniping.”

“You teach that teddy bear to snipe and I’ll eat my hat,” Nick scoffs. He frowns. “And we’ll start Rig with something _smaller_ than a _flamethrower.”_

“Does he even want to learn?” Echo asks. “You know how he feels about hurting people... Only does it under very specific circumstances...” She hums. “Which means we’re better off teaching him how to throw a punch properly.”

“It’s not like he’ll have that ‘specific circumstance’ anymore,” Nick says. “I don’t know how many of us know the name, but I know none of us would even think it if we can help it.”

Echo frowns. “So you _did_ already know it. Because he’s your...?”

“Or did you look when you weren’t supposed to?” Deacon asks, flipping through Rig’s journal. _“Gee,_ Nick, I thought you would have respected Rig’s privacy.”

Nick frowns. “Wait... Are you saying you’re _not_ the one who took down the name before we even got there?”

Deacon furrows his brow. “Well speaking of making an ass of u and me... I would have if I knew it was there. So that means someone else...?”

Echo sighs. “50 caps it was Ninety.” She furrows her brow. “But _why...?”_

Rig shuffles back into the room and Deacon closes the journal. Rig places the recapped, half-full bottle on the table.

“I don’t know if... you actually wanted any,” Rig says. “But if you did...”

Deacon grins. “I’d _love_ to share backwash with you! And they say romance is dead.”

“I know I didn’t eat dinner,” Rig says. “But I’m... tired. Can we go to bed early?”

Deacon stands up. “Fine with me.” He points a finger gun at Nick and Echo. “You two stay out of trouble now.”

“Same to you, pal,” Nick counters. As soon as Deacon and Rig retreat back to the bedroom, Nick looks at Echo. “...So, Shroud, come here often?”

Echo grins. “Why, Mister Mystery, fancy seeing you here.”

Dogmeat huffs up and hops down and trots away.

Echo laughs. “Dogmeat, no, come back!”

Meanwhile, Rig keeps his eyes covered as Deacon changes clothes, sitting on the edge of the bed and waiting. A weight sinks into the mattress beside him, and he peeks through his fingers to make sure Deacon’s fully dressed.

“So,” Deacon says. “Did Nick get it in your head that you _are_ a person, or do I have to use my patented Deacon Mind Tricks to convince you?”

Rig grimaces. “Oh, we’re... talking about it, huh?”

“Have to at some point,” Deacon says. He hesitates. “Remember how I said you scare me because I want to be honest with you?”

“No,” Rig sighs. “I mean— Yes, sorta. It was a... weird night.”

“It sure was,” Deacon frowns. “But, you know, as much as I’m a liar who’s afraid to tell the truth, I really like how honest and open you are. It, uh... makes me nervous that there’s still things you’re keeping from us. What you’re thinking, how you’re feeling, what’s upsetting you and might make you do something stupid like, I dunno, run away and potentially put yourself in a dangerous situation I can’t get you out of...? I know you don’t care if _I_ lie to you, but Rigsby, you really can’t keep these kinds of secrets from me— from us.”

Rig leans over and rests his chin on Deacon’s shoulder. “M’not used to... people caring. ‘Bout what’s wrong with me...”

“I’m not _Rig,_ Rigs,” Deacon says. “I’m not living with some idealized version of you where nothing’s wrong and everything’s gumdrops and clean floors and where I’m expecting you to bend over backwards to give me what _I_ want. You’re not a circus performer— Unless you are?” He grins. “You’d tell me if you were an acrobat, right?”

“No, I’m a poet,” Rig answers. “I say rhymes and pretty words and try not to die from combumption or tuberculosis.” He pauses a moment. “And then say stupid things like combomption instead of consumption. Which is tuberculosis.”

“Nice distraction,” Deacon chuckles. “I almost fell for it. Honest.”

“You started it,” Rig pouts. He sits up again and reaches for Deacon’s hand, and Deacon laces their fingers together. “Nick didn’t... convince me I _am_ a person, but... Did figure out why I say I’m not.”

“That’s a start,” Deacon nods. “And the reason is...?”

“Wasn’t treated like one,” Rig says. “Never got the chance to be one. Stopped trying. Don’t really think it matters though, does it?”

“...Didn’t you say before that Ninety thinks you’re not a person?” Deacon asks.

Rig frowns. “I... Maybe...”

“Well, do you want to let him win?” Deacon presses on. He grins. “Come on, don’t you want to admit you’re a person just to spite him? That’s a very human thing to do too. Prove him wrong, I know you can.”

Rig blinks. “Oh, _heck,_ you’re right! How is it that easy?”

“It’s...” Deacon smiles apologetically. “Probably... not going to be. You might forget sometimes... Have days like today where you cycle back to negative thinking... I know I get days like that more than I want to admit...”

“...Oh, right.” Rig frowns. “Right...”

“But you’ve got me, Echo, and Nick,” Deacon says. “We’ll be there to remind you. You _are_ a person. And anytime you feel down or forget, we’ll help you through it. Think of us as life coaches, but you’re stuck with us because we tricked you into loving us.”

“No,” Rig says. “I’d love you anyway. _I_ convinced _you_ to love _me.”_

“I— Oh— Well.” Deacon grins and pulls Rig into his lap. “And now we’re stuck together. Hope it’s worth it.”

Rig giggles and squirms. “Oh no, you’re gonna—” He squeals when Deacon blows a raspberry into his neck. “Stop!” he laughs. “I hate that! Meanie.” He waves Deacon away and then rubs his neck. “Oh, that tickled... And now I’m too excited to sleep and it’s all your fault.”

“Want to stay up a bit longer?” Deacon asks. “Sneak out, catch a movie and a late dinner, sneak back in before the parents notice us breaking curfew?”

Rig takes a breath. He pecks a kiss on Deacon’s lips. “No, let’s stay in bed.”

“...On the lips, huh?” Deacon chuckles. “You’re really warming up to this kissing thing, huh?”

“No, I _like_ kissing,” Rig says. “I would kiss my plush toys all the time. It’s just weird doing it with, you know... People because it’s... Because people assume it’s romantic or sexual when it shouldn’t be. I hate kissing because it’s gross when it’s romantic or sexual. I _like_ kissing because it’s affectionate when it’s _not_ romantic or sexual.”

“Oh yeah?” Deacon asks. “And what’s the difference?”

“I don’t want _your_ spit anywhere near _mine.”_ Rig cups Deacon’s cheeks. “No weird mouth or tongue stuff, just. Normal kisses, dangit.”

“...Got it,” Deacon says. “I can handle that. You know, when you say it like _that...”_

“It’s gross,” Rig says. “Like... It’s okay if other people do it, or if they do weird sex stuff, but it’s... _gross._ There’s... _fluids._ It’s— It’s— It’s _messy._ There’s no way to do it that isn’t messy so it’s _gross._ I don’t care if it’s a natural thing, it’s not something _I_ want anywhere near me.”

Deacon hums. “Soooo, what we did in your _old_ room...?”

“That was fine,” Rig say. “Weird, but fine. I enjoyed it. Would need time to get confidence to do it again...” He tilts his head. “Unless you wanted to... suggest something? I might say yes, but... Depends what you’re asking...”

“Well,” Deacon says. “If _you’re_ a poet... Why don’t you tell _me_ something dark and sweet this time.”

“Just words?” Rig asks. He hums in thought. “I... I can do words. Dark and sweet...”

“Lie down first,” Deacon says. “Get comfortable, make a night of it...”

“O-Oh...” Rig climbs off Deacon’s lap and gets in bed with him and wraps his arms around him. “Just words, right?”

“Yep,” Deacon whispers. “Just words.”

“Okay,” Rig says. He pauses a moment to think... And then... “The fact you wear your sunglasses even when the sun has long since set alludes at a brighter darkness that you are shielding from. What mystery, the unknowable truth for why you hide your eyes. What mastery, the things you must be able to see despite your own self-given disadvantage. The world must look different for someone always in darkness, and I admire that tenacity to stay out of the light. Hidden so well, cloaked in your method, like an actor who never would admit he’s on stage.” He reaches up for Deacon’s face and gently strokes his cheek. “There’s beauty in that reflective glass, the shaded vision, that you could look anywhere you please and not be caught. No fleeting glances like the ones I steal at you. No hint at an eye’s smile like my eyes have in my loving gazes upon your form. You can hide in plain sight, in the light of day and not be hindered. You can lie in the dark with me and not have your vision questioned. Shade and sanguine without exposing your intentions...”

Deacon rests his hand on Rig’s. “...That’s beautiful,” he says, voice cracking a bit. “You really _are_ a poet.”

Rig flattens his brow. “You’ve watched me write poems before. _As_ I was writing them.”

“How can you be so sure?” Deacon counters. “I had my sunglasses on. I could have been looking at anything.”

Rig gasps. “Oh! You wily jerk, I love you so much! Using my own words against me?”

Deacon chuckles and kisses Rig’s forehead, and Rig smiles.

“Love you too, Rigbert,” Deacon says. “Now get some sleep. Good night.”

Deacon flips over, letting Rig curl up against his back.

“Good night,” Rig whispers. He closes his eyes and waits for sleep.


	5. October Traditions: Talking to and about the Dead because it's Ghost Month

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deacon and Rig get some alone time, and Rig talks to someone he hasn't seen in a long time.

It takes a few days after Rig “ran away” before it’s just him and Deacon alone in the Agency office. Deacon reads through old case files, snooping through everything he can. Rig works on bookkeeping and math. The two of them silent, aside from Deacon’s occasional jokes and puns about the various cases that he certainly has more context for than Rig does at this point...

Rig writes in the final sums between the columns. End of the month total income... He flips the page to the new month and labels the page.

“October 2289”

Rig taps his pen on the page and then turns his chair to watch Deacon put away the case file and go to grab another like it’s a library book. “Bombs fell 212 years ago?” Rig asks, and Deacon tilts his head but doesn’t quite look his way.

“Yep,” Deacon says. “The 212th anniversary, later this month. Speaking of, wait until you see the Halloween decorations go up.”

“Ah, Halloween,” Rig hums. “I remember when we used to hollow those weens. Empty out the guts, roast the seeds, carve macrame faces and leave them with candles on the doorstep...”

“...You mean macabre?”

“Yes.”

Deacon closes the filing cabinet drawer with a  _ squeak _ of the old, unoiled wheels. “Something on your mind, Rigbert?”

“I did my math wrong,” Rig says.

“In the bookkeeping?” Deacon grins. “Need help fixing it?”

“No— No, no, not that.” Rig counts on his fingers. “Yeah, did my math wrong. I was 34 when the bombs fell, not 35. Birthday’s in December.”

“Oh, you’re  _ turning _ 35, then.” Deacon leans on the cabinet like some sort of cool guy instead of the nerd he is. “You have opinions on the number 35?”

“Seven times five,” Rig says. “It’s a good number. Exactly what it needs to be. Has a three in it. Has a five in it. It’s no 36, but it’s better than 34.”

“I still like 37,” Deacon smirks.

Rig wrinkles his nose. “That’s fine, I can’t stop you from liking prime numbers. But that— That reminds me...” He looks towards another filing cabinet, one with the drawer that Rig lost a fight with and that, thankfully, his cut has now fully healed from. “Been meaning to ask... How much  _ do _ you know about, um... who I used to be...?”

Deacon tilts his head again, silent for a moment. He smiles. “Don’t know what you’re talking about. You’ve been Rig Miller from the start.”

“No— No, I want the...” Rig wrings his hands. “I want the honest answer. If that’s okay. I— I don’t want you knowing but I... rather know if you know instead worrying that you do but not knowing for sure... I trust you not to use it against me, but still...”

“...I read it in your file at the Pits,” Deacon says. “When we were looking for you, deleting any info that could be used to hurt you or others... Before everything got burnt up and everything was lost anyway. So, since Nick knows it and  _ I _ know it and... Ninety probably knows it.”

“What is it?” Rig asks. He looks up at Deacon. “This one time and no times after that. What was the name?”

Deacon frowns. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. Please.”

Deacon hesitates. He says a name.

Rig flinches. “...Yep, yep, yep, okay...  _ Gosh. _ Okay.”

“I mean,” Deacon smiles nervously. “You told me to—”

“That’s not  _ my _ name,” Rig says.

“No, of course not,” Deacon nods. “Yours is Rig Miller— or Apollo Ray. Or—”

“That’s not.  _ My _ name,” Rig repeats. “I— I thought it might have been— PITS was never good with their files— how else could I get re-enrolled under a different name so easily without tricking them into thinking they just misplaced my application— A— And I guess Pits was— was worse or something but...”

Deacon frowns. “Are you telling me that  _ I _ read misinformation?”

“Unless you made up a different name for my benefit,” Rig frowns. “Yes. That was  _ not _ my old name. You— You don’t actually know—” He takes a breath. “Okay. Okay. That’s good. That’s good, less people know it. You don’t actually know it. We’re good, I’m safe. We’re okay.”

Deacon grimaces. “Yeah... Totally a-okay. The mayors of awesomeville right here, where everything is cool and perfect.”

“...Are you...?” Rig squints. “Are you upset that you don’t know?”

“Nooo,” Deacon stands straight and waves his hands. “No, no, of course not. Just, uh... annoyed that my intel was  _ wrong. _ That can make things a bit... Y’know. Life-or-death-sy in my line of work... I mean, I’d  _ like _ to know, but I— I understand that this is the kind of thing you can’t trust me with.”

Rig sighs. “No, no, I  _ trust _ you. I trust you more than I trusted anyone else ever. But that’s a name  _ I _ don’t want to know exists, Deacon. I— Buh— If I could wipe that name from my mem— membry— I’d feel a lot happier. It’s not that I don’t trust you with it, it’s that even all this acknowledging it existed makes me... feel like not a person...”

Deacon idly scratches his neck. “...Right. And we can’t have you not feel like a person...”

Rig smiles, uncertain and looking at the ledger next to him instead of Deacon’s face. “Would— Would you feel better knowing a secret I never told anyone ever in my life?”

“...Maaaaybe.”

Rig motions at his eyes. “Sunglasses. Used to— To have an imabibery— imaginary friend. Who wore them. Couldn’t tell you the name, but he was... blasicallly a boy version of me. It’s... funny how it still took me so long to realize I’m trans when I had him. Since he was always what I wanted to be. Cool, tough, logical... Able to handle problems since I... I mean, I’ve said what kind of childhood I had...”

“Ohh, I get it,” Deacon hums. “You have a thing for  _ sunglasses.” _

Rig laughs. “No, shut up. No, he just... That’s just what he wore. He— He used to be mean. Insult me, threaten me, just say nasty things whenever I was making poor choices...” He rolls his pen back and forth on the desk. “But— But then we learned better. Don’t insult ourself, be kinder, be more understanding about the fact we couldn’t always do these things... He started being someone who would... comfort me when I was lonely or sad, who’d talk me through anxiety or fears, who’d try to get me to do things to be better for myself but would be understanding if I just...  _ couldn’t. _ I— I used to be a lot... more okay with myself. With being a person, with getting through everything I needed to...”

Deacon walks over and sits on the desk. He holds out a hand and Rig takes it. “Soooo, what happened to him?”

“I mean,” Rig says. “He was imaginary. Nothing  _ happened, _ I just... stopped talking to him. I got caught up with my new science job and doctorate stuff. No time to  _ think. _ They kept me too busy for that. Just produce the work they wanted, get results through whatever means, work days on end to solve these problems... Can’t even safely say the project I quit halfway through was the only bad thing I did... Regret not leaving sooner all the time...” He sighs and rubs his thumb across the back of Deacon’s hand. “But, then I was living with Mongoose, and then with Rig and I... never got back in the habit of having— having my ‘maginary friend around anymore. Because I was safe and happy and everything was  _ fine _ and I didn’t  _ need _ him. ‘Cept it wasn’t fine ‘cause I was unhappy and s’just... Bad. Everything was bad. I can’t remember ever feeling safe and happy before meeting you.” He wipes his eyes. “You’re the safest and happiest I’ve ever felt around and— and— and I don’t want you to think I don’t trust you just ‘cause I can’t tell you everything about who I used to be but that person is dead now and all I’ve got are membries I don’t even want...”

“Awww, Rig.” Deacon cups Rig’s cheek and smiles down at him. “Do you have a crush on me or something? That’s embarrassing.”

Rig blinks and then giggles. “Ye— Yeah, I guess I do... D’you have a crush on anyone?”

“Mm... Let me think...”

“Nick maybe?” Rig asks, leaning onto Deacon’s lap. “He’s cool. If he weren’t family, he’d be a nice person to have a crush on. I’m glad Echo is dating him. They deserve happiness.”

“...Rigsby, you’re going to make me cry one of these days from how sweet you are.” He shakes his head. “I hope it’s worth it when you ruin my tough, mysterious persona by saying something cute like that.”

Rig looks up at Deacon. “Did you think this would happen when we first met?”

“Not a clue,” Deacon says. “This was the last thing I expected to happen. Second to finding out you’re actually my great-great-great-great grandfather or something.”

“Oh, ew, no.” Rig wrinkles his nose. “I can’t have kids. Don’t want human children either— Is that okay, or...?”

“We have time to discuss adoption after we get married in 6 to 8 business years after my marriage to Betsy the Deathclaw is annulled.”

“Becky,” Rig says. “Unless you have more than one Deathclaw spouse.”

“You did remember,” Deacon chuckles.

“Why wouldn’t I remember your spouse’s name?” Rig pouts. He pauses and then looks up at Deacon. “...Barbara was... someone important to you, huh...?”

Deacon goes silent again. He places a hand on Rig’s head and gently strokes his hair. “How much of that did you believe...?”

“Did—” Rig leans into Deacon’s petting. “Didn’t I do some really good poem or speech or something about how I couldn’t trust anything you said but at the same time couldn’t trust it wasn’t all true or something? Something about it was clear how you were acting that there was some truth to that...?”

“You know what acting  _ is, _ right?”

“...Yes.” Rig looks up at Deacon. “...But I’d like to think that... even if you were trying to scare me away that you... would have done or said something else if you weren’t trying to tell me the truth, even if only partially...”

Deacon continues to silently pet Rig’s hair. He smiles, shaky as his hand. “She was... very important.”

“I’m sorry you lost her.”

“Yeah...”

“Do you think she would have liked me?”

“She would have loved you. I don’t think there’s a good-natured person out there who wouldn’t love you.”

Rig closes his eyes and thins his lips. “...Yeah,” he says. They lapse into a short silence, broken by Rig opening his eyes to look up at Deacon again and asking “Why... did we first meet? I know there’s... things you never told me about... all that. But. You let me out of that vault and you found me in Buttonwood and you stayed with me the entire time after. What was I to you before you decided you liked me enough to date me?”

Deacon lifts his brow. “You’re only now asking?”

“We don’t get quiet, somber moments like this often without me being depressed at the same time.”

“Touché.” He hums. “You still don’t want secrets, right?”

“Mm-hmm. Nothing you might worry I’d tell someone else by accident when I talk without thinking.”

Deacon nods. “So. I spent a good chunk of my life trying to take down the Institute. And with Echo’s help, we finally did it. But then intel said that there might be some stragglers, which turned out to be those Pits scientists. And intel said they were after you. I... didn’t go to that vault expecting to find you both awake  _ and _ alive and see you wander out without knowing what you were doing. Thought that, maybe, you were some descendent of whatever vaulties were there originally...” He chuckles. “Of course, all the terminals proved otherwise... After that, I was trying to keep an eye on you. Make sure you weren’t dangerous or going to be put in danger. And then you had to go and seduce me with your words, you bard.”

“False Bard,” Rig says. “Not  _ the _ Bard and not even Mig Riller— gosh narn— gosh darnit.”

“Tongue tied already?” Deacon laughs. “It really is great to hear someone so good with words be so bad with... words.”

“S’part of my charm,” Rig says. He sits up and rubs his forehead. “So... I’m gonna turn 35 in December. Technically. I’ve been dating you for.... Period of time now.”

“A few months,” Deacon says.

“Yeah,” Rig says. “And— And we only  _ now _ started hearing from Ninety again.. That letter from...”

“About a week ago.”

“Yeah.” Rig frowns. “...Echo’s worried about something.”

Deacon hums. “Didn’t think you noticed.”

“It’s October,” Rig says. “Halloween time. Bad time for things to be happening...”

“Oh?” Deacon asks. “Are you superstitious? What’s your opinion on the number 13?”

“It’s a number,” Rig says. “But that doesn’t matter. Monsters exist. Ninety exists. Triangles. Threes. He sent one letter. If there’s a second, then there’ll be a third...”

“...You’ve been talking to Echo a lot, haven’t you?”

“What?” Rig asks. He turns at the sound of knocking and stands up as a letter slides under the door. “Oh...” He walks over and picks up the letter. Addressed to “Rig Miller” but for the wrong place in Diamond City... Again... “...Remember what I said about a second letter?”

“Let me read it,” Deacon says. When Rig hands it over, he opens it up and pulls out the letter inside and reads it over. Rig nudges into him and pulls his arm down just enough to be able to read it too.

> Where is your Delphi?
> 
> ⊿

“...I don’t get it,” Rig frowns.

“Really?” Deacon asks. “You’d think the guy who named himself Apollo would know what Delphi is.”

“No, not that,” Rig says. “If these are from Ninety and he’s referencing things like this... Why is he addressing these letters to ‘Rig Miller’ and not ‘Apollo Ray’? He’s not even sending them to the right place.”

Deacon pauses and reads the envelope address. “...Hey, Rigsby, you stay here and don’t let anyone in until I or Nick or Echo come back, okay?”

“You’re going to do some sleuthing?” Rig asks.

Deacon grins and kisses Rig’s cheek, and Rig grimaces and wipes the wetness from his cheek. “I mean, I  _ am _ working for a detective agency. If I’m not back when Echo gets back, you let her know I left at...” He pauses to think. “Lunch time. She’ll know what to do.”

“Okay,” Rig says. “Good luck.”

Deacon nods and hurries out the door, taking the letter and envelope with him.

Rig watches the door for a moment and then turns back to continue his ledger work. At least he has peace to work in the meantime...

He taps his pen against the paper and then stands up and walks over to a certain filing cabinet. He opens it up and peers inside and pulls out an old photo of a familiar woman. Rig swallows and goes back to his desk and sets the photo up in front of him.

“...Hey, Mom,” Rig says. He wipes his face and takes a breath. “This is... long overdue, I know. I— I half wish I knew how you’d actually react to everything but... I know it’s better if I never know. Less heartache if you didn’t approve.” He smiles. “If— If your brother was anything like the real Nick, I’m glad that he would love me.” His eyes feel wet, his throat tightens. He takes another shaky breath. “But— But I’m your son. Not your daughter. And not the son you put up with for so long. I— I’m sorry for running away, but... I had no choice. I couldn’t stay in a home that hurt me like that. I needed a chance to be me. I— I don’t regret it, what I did.” He sniffles and presses the heel of his palm into his eye. “How could I regret it? After everything? I’m sorry— I’m sorry I left you with him. That I could never get you to understand that him hurting you, hurting us, shouldn’t be tolerated. I still hope and wonder if you finally got away from him, in the end. If you had a chance to recover. If me disappearing would finally make it clear just what you were doing to yourself. I— I know it’s hard to... to leave that kind of situation. I know he was your son. I don’t blame you for having trouble escaping. Is— Is that why you never looked for me?”

Rig reaches for the photo and gently cups it. “Did— Did you realize that I had done what was best for myself? Were you happy for me, that I escaped? I— I hope so. I don’t want to think you just... didn’t care about me after all. I...” He blinks hard as tears roll down his cheeks. “I wonder if you... remembered to think about me, when the bombs fell. If— If you thought about the child you lost and hoped I was safe. If you thought about your brother in Boston. If you regretted never thinking to ask him to look for me. I— I know I’m never going to get answers. I know it’s just another thing I’ll never get closure on. I just... Wanted to— to say something. I can’t— I can’t forgive you, or Dad, or my brother, for what you did to me. Not— Not even now, when you’re probably long dead. I shouldn’t have to forgive you. I just... hope you got away from the abuse, in the end. That it didn’t...”

He shuts his eyes and pulls his hands to his chest. “That it didn’t... ruin you, in the end. I hope you died peacefully. I can’t forgive you. I don’t know if I can love you after all I missed. But you deserved peace. I just... hope you understand that I deserved peace too, and that I wasn’t going to let you deny me that.”

Rig wipes his tears on the sleeve of his pineapple shirt. Of course he couldn’t have the comfort of his flamingo shirt for this. Or of his son. Or anyone. He wouldn’t have been able to do this with someone watching, but now that it’s over... He wants a hug. He sighs and stands again to put the photo away. He whispers a small “Good night, sleep well,” to the photos and trinkets in the drawer before pushing it closed again.

Okay. He’s okay. He’s going to be okay. He’s been through hell and has come out singing and gods and graces he will do it again. 2062, when he became Apollo Ray, and 2288 where he’s now Rig Miller. And it’s easier this time. This time, he has people who actually care about him.

He fixes his shirt and gets back to work.

The rest of the day is quiet, peaceful, and Rig hums to himself as he works on various things until the door opens and Nick and Echo walk in.

“Morning!” Rig greets.

“It’s 8 in the evening,” Echo frowns. “Where’s Deeks?”

Rig sighs. “I got another letter from Ninety, and he ran off after that and said to wait for you... Said to tell you he left at lunchtime and that you’d know what to do.”

“...Ah,” Echo answers. She looks at Nick. “We might need to go after Deacon.”

“Oh,” Nick frowns. “So much for a quiet night at home.”

“...Is he in trouble?” Rig asks.

“We’ll find out,” Echo answers. “First: tell us everything you remember about the letter.”

“It was signed the same way as the first,” Rig says, listing points on his fingers. “All it said was ‘Where is your Delphi?’ Um... It wasn’t addressed to the right address... And it was addressed to Rig Miller instead of Apollo Ray like the first letter was.”

“And Deacon took it with him, I assume?” Nick asks.

Rig nods. “Yep!” He pauses and then frowns. “So, um... If you need to go after Deacon, will you be leaving me behind or...?”

“...There was someone watching the house the other night,” Echo says. “We never figured out who it was or what they were after.”

Rig blinks. “And you... didn’t tell me?”

“I’m telling you now,” Echo says. “Is that okay?”

“No,” Rig frowns. “I would have liked to have known sooner next time.”

Echo flashes an okay sign. “Got it. But that said, if we go after Deacon, you’ll have to stick with us. We’ll have to teach you to defend yourself sometime, but until then, it’s probably safer this way.”

Rig grimaces. “I’m not really one for, um...” He waves his hands.  _ “Things.” _ He shakes his head. “So— So how do we know if we need to go after Deacon?”

“We’ll head home first,” Echo says. “Have dinner, since I assume you haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

“Correct,” Rig nods.

“And then if he’s not back by the time we finish eating, we go find that idiot.”

Nick frowns. “You have an entire timing system with him, don’t you?”

“Mmmm-hmm,” Echo hums. “Let’s go.”

“So—” Rig gets up and follows the other two out the door. “Should— Should I be worried?”

“Nah,” Echo says. “He’s probably fine, just held up. This is just a precaution. Deacon can take care of himself, after all.”

“Okay,” Rig says. “Okay.”

“Did anything else happen before he left?” Nick asks. “Did you see who gave you the letter?”

“No,” Rig shrugs. “They knocked and slipped it under the door. Before that, we were just talking. Just— Just normal things. Just talk— Just blormal things.”

“Alright, alright,” Nick chuckles. “I believe you. ‘Blormal’ things.”

Rig pouts. “Don’t make fun of my bad talk bad talk-ness.”

Nick rolls his eyes. “Someone’s cranky. We’ll get some food in you, and that should help you feel better.”

“Yeah, that... sounds right,” Rig sighs. “I still don’t feel hungry. That’s still weird to me... Nn. I like that you remind me to eat, since I probably wouldn’t otherwise...”

“Mm-hmm,” Echo hums again. “Ya gotta take care of yourself, son.”

“Yeah...” Rig glances around, looking for anyone that might be around. “Um... Echo...?”

“Yeah?”

“Do  _ you _ know my dead name?”

“Ne-ope.”

“If you ever find out, can you let me know you know it?”

“Ye-up.”

“Thank you.”

“Mm-hmm.”

Dinner is a quick affair, between getting food, eating the food, and cleaning up after. All the while, the three of them are in a tense silence, waiting for any sign of Deacon.

No sign turns up, and that leaves the three of them to go chasing after one.

Rig stands awkwardly, half-wondering if he should quickly change out of the pineapple shirt and into his flamingo one while he waits for Echo to put together a light bag of supplies. He snaps out of his thoughts when she pushes the bag into his hands, and he instinctively slings it over his shoulder and watches her grab her own usual bag.

“That’s for you if something happens and you get separated from us,” she says. “Hopefully we won’t be out long and you won’t need it.”

Rig winces. “Nnn... Okay.”

“You ready?” Nick asks.

Rig nods. “Yeah...”

“It’s going to be dark, and it might be dangerous,” Nick reminds as they head out of the city. “Make sure you’re paying attention to what’s going on. We can only keep you out of so much trouble.”

“Yeah...” Rig says, following along with the two of them. “Do we know where we’re going?”

“Not yet,” Echo says. “But we’ll figure it out.”

“More likely Echo will stumble across him by accident,” Nick says.

“Shush,” Echo says, nudging Nick who smirks. “I found you that way, didn’t I?”

“Yes, dear,” Nick chuckles.

“You two are cute,” Rig says, adjusting the strap of his bag. “You have a good relationship.”

“Glad to hear,” Nick says. “You and Deacon can be cute too, you know. In a weird way.”

“Are we?” Rig asks. “Huh. That’s good, right?”

“It’s good,” Echo says. “You’re happy with him, right?”

“Yeah,” Rig says. “He’s nice— He’s nice to me. He doesn’t— He doesn’t push me to do things. It’s nice. It’s different than I’m used to. Good different. I hope he’s okay.” He stumbles over debris but regains his balance and continues to follow after the other two who seem to have no problem navigating in the dark. “Ow— I... I’ve been thinking...”

“Yeah?” Echo asks.

“Do you think I’ve been...” Rig waves his hand a bit.  _ “Too _ lucid? I don’t... know psychology stuff enough to know if... this is normal after beverything. I... don’t remember being like this after... the things before. Just— Just I liked it better when I couldn’t see how bad Rig was to me. How— How bad Mongoose was. At...” He hums. “At least then, I could keep up the facade of... having a better life than I did growing up. But if the only difference was... less physical harm...” He shakes his head. “I— I mean, Rig could never have been as bad as my brother. I— I hope he couldn’t have. I don’t want to find out, if I had a chance to know him better, that he would...” He takes a breath. “He’s dead. He’s gone. I don’t need to worry about it. But— But this is what I mean. Too lucid? Yes maybe no maybe?”

“...Do you want to go back to how you were before?” Nick asks. “When you couldn’t remember what had happened to you, could hardly pay attention to your surroundings, said more things without thinking?”

“Would I rather die ignorant or live with the knowledge I hate people I thought were my friends?” Rig asks.

“Rig,” Echo scolds.

“I... Sorry.” Rig rubs his arm. “I just... Think whatever serpent that cleared my mind should have made me not believe myself for these self-fulfilling prophecies. Then I could ignore myself when I get like this and be happier.”

“...Pop quiz,” Echo says. “22 times 33.”

“726,” Rig says.

“What’s the chemical formula for sucrose?”

“C12H22O11,” Rig says.

“Are you a person?”

“What? No—” Rig sighs and buries his face in his hand. “Could I get a hint?”

“The answer  _ isn’t _ no,” Nick says.

“...Gee, that could mean anything,” Rig says. “I’m... a person?”

“Don’t sound so unsure,” Echo says.

“...Maybe one day I will be,” Rig says. “But I... think I still need more time.” He sighs. “I just... want to find Deacon and go home...”

“We’ll find him,” Nick assures. “You’ve got the two best detectives in the Commonwealth on the case. Your father and... your step-mom.”

_ “Gods,” _ Echo groans.

Rig smiles. “...Love you both. Thank you.”

They search in the dark for half the night before Rig starts to lag behind and wring his hands the further they get. Echo notices and nudges Nick who nods in agreement.

“We’re stopping for the night,” Echo says. She motions to a familiar abandoned gas station with “L’s Angels” still painted on the sign out front. “You need some rest.”

“...Am I slowing you down?” Rig asks, quiet and nervous.

“No,” Echo says. She yawns. “I need to rest too.”

“Okay,” Rig says. “Okay.”

“I packed a pillow and Lil’ Deacon for you.”

“Oh,” Rig smiles. “Okay.”

“I’ll keep watch,” Nick says. “Get some sleep, alright? We’ll find Deacon in the morning.”

Rig nods and follows them into the station. After a quick sweep to ensure it’s free of radroaches and ferals, Rig digs the aforementioned pillow out of the bag, followed by his good and precious son. He lies down and mutters a “Good night” to the others before closing his eyes to sleep.

...Something about this feels wrong, but he can’t place what.

* * *

The kitchen is yellow, the world is dark, the power is out, and Rig stands at the stove trying to get it to light. A lighter in one hand, the gas clicking with the dial held on with his other, it takes a bit of work but...

_ Fwoosh! _

The blue flames of the stove lick up the edges of his kettle, already filled with water and ready to bring to a boil. Both mugs already have their tea bags ready. He stands and closes his eyes and envisions the world outside as he waits. He listens as the kettle heats up to the wind and rain of the hurricane outside...

A door opens behind him, and he turns around. The blue kitchen looks out into a clean living room in a Massachusetts home. A blond man stands at the door and stares back at him, eyes wide.

“Rig?” he asks that man at the door.

The man smiles at him. “Apollo,” he says.

_ A flicker— a dark, torn apart living room, lit only by his candles, the man’s face has a scar on his cheek and he’s wearing a black suit— _

“Rig” smiles and drops his keys in the holder they keep by the door—

_ That’s not how their house is laid out. He shouldn’t be able to see this. _

—and he walks up to “Apollo” and takes him by the hands, his grip gentle but calloused.

_ These aren’t Rig’s hands. Whose hands are these? _

“It’s good to see you’re alright,” Rig, the real Rig, tells him, voice soft, gaze lingering a bit too long.

Apollo, the same Apollo he always has been, glances to his kettle and the two mugs waiting for their water. “Why— Why wouldn’t I be?”

Rig doesn’t answer and instead watches him silently. The wind outside the yellow kitchen howls as Rig speaks, his face blurring as Apollo turns away to turn off the stovetop.

“I don’t understand,” Apollo says, turning back around to find the kitchen empty.

The phone rings, the jingle sounding muffled and distant. Apollo walks to the phone and picks it up. “Hello...?”

He hears a name in a voice he can’t hear but knows is there. A voice he doesn’t remember but that sounds so familiar. He hangs up and backs away as the phone rings again and again and again. His brother trying to call him...

The voice picks up again, this time without him touching the phone. An old name better off forgotten, the same, sad moping of a selfish man trying to vie for his sympathies. The same, old apologies that were always lies, that always led to a period of calmness, the eye of a hurricane before the storm picked up again just as destructive as before.

“No,” Apollo sobs. “No, no,  _ no!” _

Rig Miller wakes with a start, holding Lil’ Deacon tight and blinking around in the darkness of the early morning. He looks over and finds Echo and Nick watching him.

“It’s early,” Echo whispers. “Are you okay?”

“...Bad dream,” Rig says. He turns onto his side, away from them. “Sorry. Night.”

He closes his eyes and instead of sleeping just listens to Nick and Echo’s faint whispers, too distant to make out clearly.

Their voices lull him back into a dreamless sleep.


	6. March One Step Forward, Fall Thee Steps Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the way to find Deacon, the group gets distracted by a new case.

“I really don’t like this, Nick,” Echo whispers in the darkness of the early morning, speaking low as not to disturb Rig’s sleep. “Deacon’s likely doing something stupid when he should know better.”

Nick rests his hand around Echo’s, likewise watching Rig and the look of discomfort on his sleeping face. “You got an ‘echo’ of what they were actually talking about? I noticed your eyes flicker. Not sure if Rig did.”

“Deacon was wrong about the name he knows,” Echo says. “Rig’s dead name. I don’t know what that other name is, but Rig didn’t like it either. I don’t think Rig’s enough of an actor to trick Deacon into thinking that was the wrong name, though. And you know how Deacon is...”

Nick frowns. “...But if we’re right that Ninety knows it, and Deacon ran off with a letter from him...”

“I’m hoping I’m wrong,” Echo says. “I’m hoping he knows better. But if it turns out he ran off for intel he’s not supposed to have... Intel that Rig’s made it clear he doesn’t want him to have... He needs to learn a better way to cope with his anxiety than invading people’s privacy. It was one thing to do it to me, but Rig’s his _boyfriend...”_

“...Do we tell Rig?” Nick says. “That Deacon might have run off to learn _that_ name?”

“I don’t know...” Echo sighs and leans into Nick’s side. “I _could_ be wrong. Maybe Deacon does know better and is after Ninety for other reasons. None of us want him bothering us, after all. I only know the echo I saw, not his actual intentions.”

“He knows better,” Nick determines. “This is the one thing he’s not allowed to know, for Rig’s sake. He knows better than to go against that.”

“Just like you know better that smoking does nothing for you,” Echo reminds.

Nick frowns. “Right...”

Rig shouts as he jolts awake, and he looks around in a daze before settling his gaze on the two of them.

“...It’s early,” Echo whispers just loud enough for him to hear. “Are you okay...?”

“...Bad dream,” Rig answers. He flips onto his side, his back to them, and utters a soft “sorry. Night.”

Echo lowers her voice again and frowns. “He’s apologizing again... What do you think he dreamt of this time?”

“Hopefully not your dad again,” Nick sighs.

“No,” Echo sighs. “If he was having a nightmare, then _Pops_ would have ran off before he was even noticed. Besides, I’m not asleep. I can tell he’s only passing through Rig’s dreams to get to mine. Which thank _gods_ for that buffer. A few times, it’s given me the chance to wake up before he could aim properly to get to me.”

“That man, I swear...” Nick sighs and shakes his head. “Morally Gray.”

“You nerd,” Echo sighs.

Nick smiles. “You should try to get more rest, at least.” He leans over and kisses her head. “You want a blanket? I can give you my coat again.”

“Yeah.” Echo kisses him and smiles. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

* * *

Rig wakes to the sound of movement and immediately jerks, sitting up and looking around to place his surroundings. He blinks as he remembers the gas station, the situation, and the people he’s with. Safe. He’s safe. Nick is merely putting back on his coat, and Echo is merely rummaging through her bag. Rig holds Lil’ Deacon tight and leans forward onto his knees, mumbling “gosh— gosh darnit. Gosh darnit” quietly.

“Are you alright, Rig?” Nick asks. “You have another nightmare?”

“No, just—” Rig sits up again and drags his bag closer to put his pillow and Lil’ Deacon back in it. “Just— What’s the word? Still... high strung? From the one before. Just— another brother dream. Is all.” He stands up and stretches and then rubs the shoulder he was sleeping on. “Can I go for a walk...?”

“Nick, take your son for a walk,” Echo says. “I’ll have breakfast ready when you get back. Rig, bring your bag with you.”

“Right,” Nick chuckles. “If we’re not back in half an hour, assume we got kidnapped again.”

“Is it Tuesday already?” Echo asks.

Rig sighs and slings his bag over his shoulder and slips outside and waits for Nick to join him. He follows along beside Nick as they head into the early morning wastelands, the world still quiet and the sun freshly rising. Rig trails his eyes to the orange sky and smiles.

“Something on your mind?” Nick asks.

“...I picked Apollo for a reason,” Rig says. “Not the poetry thing. The— The sun thing. I like the sun. Light, clariby— clarity. I don’t believe in ‘Pollo. The myths ‘bout him are bad— terrible mean jerk who punishes people for not sleeping with him. But still something about him is... I liked it enough to steal his name. But if there’s a god out of many I’d put my faith in, it’d be a sun god.”

“Huh,” Nick smiles. “Sun god, hmm?”

“There wouldn’t be life without the sun,” Rig says. “Sun makes it warm ‘nough for things to survive. Food chains all begin with sunlight. Just feels... happier, to see daylight. But— But I don’t trust gods and goddesses enough for-to put my faith in totally-completely.” He shrugs and then catches his bag before it slides off his shoulder. “Agnostic. Don’t doubt gods exist, but don’t— don’t— thing. Things.”

“That’s understandable,” Nick answers. 

“Mm-hmm.” Rig looks at the world around them. He holds onto the strap of his bag in lieu of having a hand to hold. “So... Talked to... Mom last yesterday. After Deacon left.”

“...Oh,” Nick says. “And?”

“She’s... not really your sister,” Rig says. “I know you pretend but... But you know that— that you and the old Nick are different. People. You’re you and... He wouldn’t like me.”

Nick frowns. “What makes you say that?”

Rig looks away, swiping a hand down his mouth. “...So,” he says with a gesture outward. “Uncle Nick was from before bombs time too. He’d be the kind of person I couldn’t tell I was trans. ‘Specially since my existence was illegal. He— He was a cop that lived in a time where there had to be an attempt at an underground system to help trans people because... because it wasn’t accepted and he had no reason to accept it. Right?”

“...Rig.”

“And then you, my _dad,”_ Rig continues. “You— You live in the now times. Where people care less about things like that. Beople can change their... bodies. Faces. Names. Nothing illegal about it if there’s no laws. Just... justice and morals, right? And... You deal with... wordage. Bad wordage. ‘Scrimination about... what you are just because you... are. You... have experience with the things I had to be ‘fraid of.” He looks up at Nick. “You... have more reason to accept me than Uncle Nick would have because... You’re you and not him. You— You— You know what it’s like. Only difference is you can’t hide what you are and I had to libe in hiding for 500 years. Because if I didn’t, I could be arrested or killed. Possibly by Uncle Nick himself.”

“Rig, no,” Nick says. “He wouldn’t have killed you.”

“...No,” Rig says. “But someone he worked with might have. Or worse.” He grimaces at Nick’s flinch. “Ev— Everything was corrupt. Nothing was safe. If he knew me, someone would have found out my secret and I could have been hurt by someone he trusted. Don’t lie to me. We can pretend all we want to, that he would have loved me unconditionally, but you’re a better person to me than Uncle Nick would have ever been.” He lets go of his bag and gingerly reaches for Nick’s hand. “You...” He cups Nick’s hand and offers him a shaky smile. “I can trust you. I can trust Echo, and I can trust Deacon. I never had that before. This— This is good. I can trust you to— to know about me and... not do the worst.”

“Of course, of course,” Nick says. He lifts Rig’s hand and pats it. “We wouldn’t intentionally hurt you.” He smiles. “I can see what Deacon sees in you. I’m glad to have you as a son.”

“Now you have to tell me a story,” Rig grins. “It’s the payment for— for things. I say words, you say words. Tit for tat ‘cept it’s stories and not— not whatever I just did.”

Nick chuckles. “Right... Did I ever tell you how Echo and I met?”

“Nope!”

“Well then. It starts with a man named Skinny Malone and ends with a woman accidentally stumbling across Vault 114...”

Rig listens with full attention to the story, about Skinny Malone and the Triggermen, about Nick getting kidnapped, about Echo somehow finding the vault without knowing Nick was there and helping Nick escape. At one point he lets go of Nick’s hand but continues to follow and listen and simply enjoy Nick’s company and story.

By the time they make it back to the gas station, Rig feels a lot better about the morning. Rig eats the breakfast Echo offers him, Nick and Echo discuss where they’ll look for Deacon next, and they head out on their way back into the wastelands looking for their missing companion. Rig stays content to follow behind Nick and Echo, silent and listening to them talk.

This is good. This is normal.

They end up in a settlement by a lakeside, intent to pass through, but someone takes notice of them and flags them down. Echo frowns, cautious as she approaches the settler. “Yes?” she asks.

“Aren’t you those detectives from Diamond City?” the man asks. “I was about to go there to discuss something with you. There’s been a murder.”

“Oh,” Nick frowns. “And you need to know who committed it.”

“No, we know who committed it,” the man says. “You’re Nick Valentine, right? You remember an Old Man Carson?”

“Sure,” Nick says. “Lee Carson. Hired me years ago to find his wife and daughter but gave up when all signs showed they left for the Mojave.”

“Well, he was murdered,” the man says. He fishes a sheet of paper from his pocket and holds it out for Nick to take. “We found this. One of the murderers dropped it and, well...”

Nick frowns and unfolds the paper, glancing over the list of names, most of which are crossed out except for one in the middle. “Nick Valentine”. Nick frowns and shares a look with Echo. “A hit list?”

“Looks like,” Echo frowns. She looks at the man. “You said you know who murdered Mr. Carson?”

“We didn’t get a good look at them,” the man says. “But someone recognized them. They’re working for some man named March Evans.”

Nick glances down at the list again. “Echo, do we have time to investigate this?”

Echo sighs. “I think we have to make time. Sorry, Rig, finding your boyfriend will have to wait.”

Rig sighs. “Yeah, that’s fine. I rather Nick _not_ die.”

“Can you take us to the scene of the crime?” Echo asks the man.

“Uh, we already moved the body out to deal with it,” the man says. “Didn’t want it to attract anything.”

“That’s fine,” Echo says. “We’ll work with what’s there.”

“It happened at Old Man Carson’s home, in the middle of the night,” the man says. “It’s over at the end there, so no one saw anything happen until it was too late. Follow me.”

The three of them follow the settler to the shack at the edge of the settlement, passing by a couple staring and making snide comments, but Echo and Nick ignore it, so Rig ignores it and they continue to Old Man Carson’s home. They head inside the one-room home, torn apart and a mess and with blood stains on the ground and wall at the old, worn reclining chair.

“Believe it or not,” the man says. “This place normally looks this messy. Aside from the blood, obviously. Old Man Carson had trouble keeping things tidy.”

“So I see,” Nick says as he and Echo walk around and inspect things.

Rig hangs out by the door next to the man who looks up and down Rig.

“So,” the man says. “I like your shirt.”

Rig beams. “Thank you.”

“Did you hire these two to find your boyfriend, then?”

“Oh, no,” Rig says. “I’m their secretary. This is a favor.”

“Hmm, I see,” the man says. He smiles. “Well, you know, I hope it’s not that your boyfriend ran off with someone else. He’d be some kind of idiot to think someone’s more attractive than what he already has.”

Rig blinks repeatedly. “...What?”

“Hey,” Nick calls from where he’s standing next to Echo. “Don’t flirt with my secretary.”

_“What?”_ Rig repeats, more appalled this time.

The man holds up his hands in apology. Rig blinks again but then glances down to the small table next to the door and something sticking out from behind it. He crouches down and picks up another tarot card, in a similar dirty purple to the one he found at PITS. He stands back up and looks at the man next to him, holding up the card.

“Can I take this?” he asks.

“Go ahead,” the man says. “Old Man Carson’s got no more use for it.”

“Thanks,” Rig says, shoving it into his pocket. “Who’s March Evans?”

“From what I know?” the man asks. He hums in thought. “Heard he made a fortune out in the Mojave and then came to the Commonwealth sometime in the last few months. Apparently he cleared out an old casino of raiders with his own gang and has reopened it. March’s Games and Moonshine, somewhere North of here. Don’t know what his hit list thing is about.”

“Hmm.” Rig looks over to Echo and Nick discussing something to themselves. “Did you see a man wearing sunglasses pass through, by the way?”

“Sunglasses?” the man asks. “Can you be more specific?”

“Uhh...” Rig squints as he tries to think of another defining feature of Deacon’s. “Nooo?”

“...Well, I saw _one_ man in sunglasses,” the man says. “He passed through and talked to Old Man Carson several hours before Evans’ gang showed up. You think it might be related?”

“Oh, gosh, I hope not,” Rig frowns.

The man grins. “‘Gosh’, huh?”

“Rig,” Nick calls over. “We got enough to work with here. Let’s keep going.”

“Okay,” Rig chimes.

“Rig’s a nice name,” the man says. “Good luck finding your boyfriend. And if you can’t, you’re welcome to come back here... Just ask for—”

Nick shoves Rig out the door. “We’re leaving.”

Echo frowns at the man as she passes. She points two fingers at her eyes and then points at the man and then follows after the other two.

They continue out of the settlement, heading Northward. Rig rubs his thumb into his opposite palm and frowns as he looks at the other two.

“Sooooo,” he starts. “Do I get to know what’s going on...?”

“We only know so much right now,” Echo says. “Nick can tell you a bit of what he knows, though.”

Nick nods. “I recognize the name March Evans. Carson’s wife’s maiden name was Evans, and they named their _daughter_ March. The list of names, for the ones I recognize, are all people around Carson’s age who would have known March... As if whoever this March Evans is, he’s trying to get rid of anyone who might have known Carson’s daughter.”

“...Carson’s son?” Rig asks. He brightens, bouncing a bit in excitement. “Trans? He’s trans? Do you think he’s trans?”

“Rig,” Echo sighs. “He’s also trying to kill Nick.”

Rig pouts. “Oh. Right. Y’know, if there’s one thing I miss about the Railroaders, it’s that they made it easier for me to find other people who are trans. Even for those of us not _in_ the Railroaders and just got help from them, they helped connect us easier-ly. There has to be other trans people in the here and now, but I don’t know how to find them. Find ones who are nice people at that.” He shrugs. “But having trans friends was— it was ‘specially helpful early on, when I first transitioned. They don’t exactly teach you how to pass for a man, but having other trans men who already went through that and knew what advice to give you... little things no one thinks of until you gotta be conscious ‘bout it. I’m bad at ‘splaining that kinda thing, though, so luckily I never had to help anyone else transbitioning.”

“I know what you mean,” Nick says. “There are little things I learned to do to seem more _human._ Even if I don’t pass for a human as easily as you pass for a man. But the difference there is you _are_ a man and I’m _not_ human.”

Rig nods. “Yeah. Yeah. So if... March Bevans is after you, where are we going...?”

“...Straight to March Evans,” Echo says. “Either we go deal with him directly and try to convince him to leave Nick alone or do what we need to in order to stop him, or we risk him and his gang showing up later, probably at the most inconvenient time.”

“...Oh,” Rig says. “Um... So— So when you do that, where do you want me to be?”

“Nick will watch you,” Echo says. “I’ll go in and try and find Evans and see what I need to do to get him not to kill Nick.”

“This would be easier if Deacon were here to watch Rig,” Nick frowns. “Not sure how I feel about you going in there on your own, Echo.”

“I’ll be fine,” Echo says. “You keep an eye on your son.” She nudges into him. “I’d rather you stay safe anyway.”

“Still,” Nick says.

“It’ll be fine, it’ll be fine,” Echo insists.

Finding March’s Games takes the rest of the day, between none of them having been there before, the three of them getting lost at one point, and a few instances of running into rather hostile animals and people Rig would rather they do without. By the time they get close enough to see March’s Games in the distance, the sun is setting and people are already headed inside for alcohol and a chance to make it rich.

“Alright,” Echo says after she and Nick find a good place for Nick and Rig to wait. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. You two stay safe.”

“You too,” Nick says. He kisses her, to which Rig looks away, and then waves Echo off and sits beside Rig on the ground. “You alright, kid?”

“Yeah,” Rig says. “Tired. Worried about Deacon. What if he’s already back in Diamond City, waiting for us?”

“Then he’ll have to keep waiting until we get back,” Nick says. “We left a note for him.”

“Oh,” Rig says. “Okay.” He yawns. “Nng. Don’t want to sleep yet...”

“No?” Nick asks.

“Might ‘nares.”

“...You might have nightmares.”

Rig nods. “Yeah.”

“You had one last night,” Nick hums. “Do you want to talk about it...?”

“Nnnn, it’s been a day,” Rig sighs. “I mean... I— I don’t remember all of it... But Rig was in it— or maybe Ninety? Just there, being creepy. Then— Then I was in the kitchen I grew up with. Yellow— S’always that yellow kitchen. Brother called me. Kept calling me. I— I wasn’t in danger or being hurt or anything but it’s... It’s still scary when it happens. Still gets me nervous and tense. Makes me feel silly, sometimes. That— That he only has to just _be_ there for me to be scared... Regardless if he’s actually doing anything.”

“It’s not silly,” Nick says. “I can’t even imagine what he did to you, that you’re still having nightmares about him years later. But if it was that bad that even seemingly minor things like this disturb you, then it’s not silly.”

“...Okay,” Rig says. “Thank you.”

Nick smiles. “But... You’re saying that that man with the static for a face didn’t show up this time?”

“Nope,” Rig says. “But that’s okay. I never finished the tea I was making for him.” He pauses and then squints. “Did... Did I ever tell you that the really attractive man I keep dreaming about making tea for has static for a face?”

Nick clears his throat. “I’m... sure you did at some point.”

“...No, I...?” Rig tilts his head. “Don’t think I did?”

“...Right,” Nick says. “Damn.”

Rig blinks. “So... Either one of you can see my dreams, or that’s a... what... a real person?”

“Yes, the— the latter.” Nick shakes his head. “But it’s not important. He’s just another psyker, but he’s too far away to be any harm. I’m surprised you think he’s attractive. From what I understand, most people look at his face and want to punch him.”

“...I like that he doesn’t have a face,” Rig says. “I’d want to not be perceived. Having a physical form is bad, but if I could at least be incomprehensible... I’d— I’d like not to, uh... be real.”

“...Rig,” Nick sighs.

“What?” Rig whines. “It’s not just that I don’t think I’m a person. I don’t _want_ to be one! I still don’t get why that’s a problem! It’s just... _easier._ It’s— It’s— It’s—”

“It’s dehumanizing,” Nick scowls. “It’s hateful. It’s people looking at you in fear, not wanting to be near you, calling you names or trying to attack you just because _you_ aren’t a person to them. It’s enough to drive you to depression and bitterness, to think badly of yourself and think you don’t deserve anything special because special things are for _actual_ people, and as much as you try to pretend, you feel deep down that you’ll never be one. Because you aren’t human to these folk, and nothing you can do would change that. Don’t try and tell me it’s easier. I know just how hard it is to deal with in reality, more than you would.”

Rig looks away. He wrings his hand and winces. “...Sorry.”

Nick sighs. “I’m not mad, Rig. Just frustrated. You’re a good person. Don’t put yourself down so much. That’s all.”

“You’re a person,” Rig says. “I’ve always thought of you as a person.”

“And you’re more human than I am,” Nick says. “So why would that mean you’re not a person?”

“Because,” Rig says. “Just— Just because. Why do I have to justify it?”

“You really need it spelled out for you?” Nick asks. “Because you’re not right. You _are_ a person, and if you’re going to claim you aren’t, then you need to provide some solid evidence why you aren’t. Which we both know you can’t. You’re just being stubborn.”

“Because it’s _easier,”_ Rig hisses.

“Rig, I just said—”

“Because it’s safer, then,” Rig says. He looks up at Nick, eyes darting from Nick’s face to the casino and back. “Because— Because when something happens to— to _hurt me_ again, when someone shows up and wants to dehumanize me like what always happens, at least I’ll have that buffer of acceptance that they’re right that I’m not a person so it’ll hurt _less._ I mean— What else am I supposed to do? Fight back? Argue?” He groans. “And just— just be hurt or treated worse because I’m not the quiet, obedient person they want me to be? You— You don’t know how terrified I am right now doing just _this..._ that—” He swallows. “That arguing right now’s just... gonna put me in trouble. I’m—” He winces. “I’m in trouble, aren’t I? I— I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

“...Rig,” Nick says, holding out a hand. He grimaces when Rig flinches away. “...You’re not in trouble. I’m not going to hurt you. You need to get some rest and calm down, alright? We’ll talk more later. We just want the best for you, and you aren’t helping yourself any saying you aren’t a person, that’s all. It’s not easier and it’s not safer. And...” His voice softens. “And I’m sorry that the people you’ve dealt with before convinced you that it was just so they could hurt you more.”

Rig continues to avoid Nick’s gaze. “You’re a person,” he says again. “And you’re much better at being one than me. You should be the one with the flesh body, not me. It’s not fair.”

“Well, tough,” Nick says. “You’ll just have to learn to be human again.”

“...Yeah,” Rig says. “I guess so.” He glances up at Nick for a second before turning away again. “I— I didn’t mean to say it’s easy to deal with. With being treated like that. Just— Just that it’s... easier for me not to change my mind...”

“But also more harmful,” Nick says.

Rig swallows and nods. “Yeah. Guess so.”

They slip into silence, with Nick staring off towards the casino, and Rig staring at the ground and thinking... First about how Nick must be mad at him. Then about how he keeps making mistakes. And then...

_They just want to help you,_ he thinks to himself. _You know they’re right, so why are you so afraid to accept it? You left behind everyone who treated you like_ **_that_ ** _already. Like something to manipulate. If you trust them, then believe them._

He furrows his brow. _Are we a person?_ he thinks back at the other “voice.” _Do we do anything people-like?_

_Oh my gosh, you idiot, yes,_ the first “voice” answers. _You have emotions. You have thoughts. You’re alive, against all odds. You exist. Stop trying to deny yourself something just because the terrible people in your life tried to keep it from you before. They may have put it on a shelf too high to reach before, but you have access to a ladder now. You just need to be brave enough to climb it._

...That’s a good line for a poem. He’ll have to remember that.

_Besides,_ the voice continues. _You weren’t exactly accurate._

_What do you mean?_ he asks.

_You argued with Ninety. You fought back. He’s far more likely to hurt you, to want to hurt you, than the others are. He’s more like my brother— your brother. He scares you, and you didn’t let him get away with hurting you._

Rig hums and leans against Nick’s side. Nick blinks down at him but doesn’t say anything, leaving Rig to his thoughts as Rig shuts his eyes. _We didn’t want to deal with that again. With the same abuse we dealt with before..._

_And you know that these three won’t do that to you. You should listen to them. They actually have your best interests in mind. You’re a person to_ **_them,_ ** _so why wouldn’t you want to please them by agreeing? Since you know you are._

_...Right._ Rig opens an eye and looks to the side at an invisible figure he can’t quite visualize but can pretend is there. _I missed you, Raymond._

Raymond “smiles” at him. _That’s my new name? You still named me after yourself, huh?_

_I have few brands, but I stick to them._

_Just take care of yourself. Get better._

“...Nick?” Rig asks.

“Yeah, kid?” Nick asks.

“...Thank you. For— For talking me through things.” He sighs. “I... do want to get better. I do want to be a person. It’s just hard and scary.”

“We’ll get through it,” Nick says, wrapping an arm around Rig. “I still forget sometimes too. Still call myself junk or trash. Echo gets on my case about that, but it’s a process. I’m getting better. You will too. Like father, like son.”

Rig smiles. “Okay. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

* * *

Echo enters the casino just as inconspicuous as any other person there that evening. Bright lights, the chiming of slot machines, and well-dressed individuals exchanging paper money and poker chips intertwine with regular wastelanders spending caps at the bar or betting on games with decks of cards of their own creation. Some “Caravan” game that Evans seems to have brought from the Mojave and that has had enough time in the months since retaking the casino for the regulars to learn and risk their money on.

There’s even some flickers of the raiders that had been here before... The massacre with Evans and his boys clearing it out for themselves... They aren’t ones to shy away from violence, it seems. Talking them out of hurting Nick might be more difficult than she hoped.

But finding Evans is the first thing she has to do. She looks around the casino for any sign of him or where he might be hiding. Instead she immediately catches sight of someone ducking out of view, or attempting to.

She knows she saw those sunglasses and that pompadour.

Dammit, Deacon...

She sighs and hurries to find Deacon before he runs away completely, and she catches him trying to pass for a patron, buying a drink at the bar that she knows he doesn’t plan on actually drinking.

“Hey,” she frowns, and he turns and grins, ready to give his expertly crafted alibi— “We need to talk,” she orders.

Deacon frowns and takes his drink but follows her to a quieter corner of the venue. “What’s up, Bullseye?”

“What are you doing here?” Echo demands. “We’ve been looking for you.”

“And you found me,” Deacon answers. “You have me tagged or something?”

“Deacon,” Echo frowns. “No jokes. What are you doing here?”

“I’m following a lead,” Deacon says. “Ninety sent Rigbert another letter, so I’m trying to track him down—”

“You better not be doing what I think you are,” Echo says.

“...Well, I dunno,” Deacon shrugs, sloshing his drink onto the floor with the motion. “What do you think I’m doing?”

“If you’re trying to find Ninety to get you to tell you Rig’s old name...”

“You mean Apollo?” Deacon asks. “Nooo, of course not. I already know _that_ name, and he doesn’t want me knowing anything he may have been called before then.”

“Uh-huh,” Echo utters. “Sure. Deeks, I’m serious. This is the one thing you aren’t allowed to know.”

Deacon shakes his head. “The way I see it, it’s one of _many_ things I’m not allowed to know. Bullseye, that guy has an entire _life_ that is off the books with any evidence it existed destroyed or in another part of the world too far away to get to. Having at least a _name_ would give me a lot more to work with.”

“Oh, sure,” Echo answers. “You start with looking for a name for a person that doesn’t exist. And then what? What will happen when you decide knowing only a name makes you just as scared as before and you start trying to ask for more? Are you going to go to _Ninety_ of all people asking about that too?”

“I’m not—” Deacon sighs. “I’m not going to Ninety to ask Rig’s name. Scout’s honor.”

“Deacon—”

“I promise,” Deacon says. “I won’t ask Ninety Rig’s name. Rig can’t trust me with it, and that’s fine.”

Echo frowns. “Deacon, you _know_ it’s not that he doesn’t trust you. I told you already. He doesn’t want that name to even _exist._ You knowing it is just keeping it in existence even more than it needs to be. It’s not that he doesn’t _trust_ you, it’s that it actively would harm him to go behind his back to learn it when he’s made it clear he wants as few people knowing it as possible.” She sighs and shakes her head. “You need to work on that, you know. I know you feel safer knowing everything about a person, but Rig’s already tells you everything it’s safe for _him_ to let you know. You care about him, right?”

“...Of course,” Deacon says. “Yeah, of course...”

“Then stop trying to hurt him by looking for answers he’s not ready to give you,” Echo says. “Just come back home with us after I’m done dealing with March Evans.”

“March Evans?” Deacon asks, smiling and lifting his brow. “That’s who you’re here to see? Not little ol’ me?”

Echo rolls her eyes. “Evans has Nick on his hit list.” She watches Deacon’s expression turn serious. “Want to help me figure out how to get Nick off that list without Nick getting hurt?”

“Sure thing, boss,” Deacon says, setting his drink down on the table beside them. “What’s the plan?”


	7. Various Men Do Stupid Things: What Happens Next Will Shock You!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A man walks into a casino and the casino owner says...

Nick gently shrugs a sleeping Rig off his shoulder in order to stand before his joints lock up. Stiff joints seem to be a universal problem for any man or machine high up in years, and he’s no different...

He fumbles in the dark for a cigarette, a holdover addiction from the old Nick. Smoking is half performative to make him seem more human, but there are plenty of other “human” things he could do. No, it’s still, at its core, an addiction, in at least the mental sense and not physical. A placebic comfort to his own lingering worries as the seconds drag on. Echo will be fine, he’s sure. She’s dealt with worse things than a hotshot who has it out for him. She’s _dealt_ with hotshots who had it out for him already. This is just another tally to that list, but still... He much rather be with her to set the record straight, but no, one of them needs to keep an eye on their defenseless “son”.

Nick’s eyes trail down to Rig. Nick has to admit, Deacon’s right to be wary about Rig’s unpredictability. It seems like almost every day there’s some new secret to unveil, some reaction to things none of them could have planned for, so much to him that he hasn’t shared and none of them would know until it’s laid on the table for them.

Well... Nick knows a bit more, at least.

Even so, second-hand knowledge about a kid he never met—that the _original_ Nick never even met—doesn’t help when Rig has long since proven the reality of his situation is far different from what Rig’s would-be uncle would have known about him. The nightmare from this morning isn’t the only time he’s seen Rig wake with a start or with a shout. The fact it was caused by his own brother...

It pains him to think about, that somewhere in the past, a little girl had to grow up afraid of her older brother hurting her in who knows what ways, and that their parents would hide that. He knows, unlike what Rig may think, that the original Nick would have helped Rig escape. That he would have given him the chance to be Apollo Ray— or maybe Apollo Valentine. But where would that have led them? Just another target for Eddie Winter, just like Jenny...

...No, he doesn’t need to think of that. Rig’s with him in the here and now, and it’s for the better that they didn’t know that Nick is— that the old Nick is his uncle until they had time to get to know each other outside of that. It’s still odd to think about, having family he never expected to find. Having the old Nick’s family be _his_ family. Pretending was one thing. The reality of it... A family he didn’t know he had and was still around...

Meeting DiMA was bad enough, but _this_ whole mess...

“What are you thinking about?”

Nick blinks out of his thoughts and looks down to see Rig with an eye open, watching him smoke... Watching the smoke billow out through the holes on his face. His “scars” as Echo is fond of calling them. He lowers his cigarette. “Nothing important, kid. Go back to sleep.”

“Nng...” Rig sits up and rubs his neck. “Can’t. Uncomfy... You want to talk about it...?”

Nick chuckles. “It’s nothing important.”

“...Still,” Rig says. “I got to— I got to talk a lot at you today. And... And lately.... About thoughts and feelings. I talk a lot. You want a turn? Can tell you a story after. Tit for tat and what— whatever I said earlier. It’s been a day.”

Nick frowns. “Well. I was thinking about what you said earlier.”

“I said many things,” Rig reminds.

“About me not being the old Nick,” he says. “About what you think the old Nick would let happen to you.”

Rig stares at him and then to the side, as if trying to recall what he had said.

“I stand by it, kid,” Nick says. “Maybe he’d make a few more mistakes than I probably do, but he would have wanted to help you. I should know, out of anyone. You never met him, so you wouldn’t know.” He sighs. “You know... For a long time before we met, I had more of an identity crisis about who I am. Since I’m not Nick Valentine but I’d be nothing without him and his memories. Echo’s helped me through a lot of that, to reconcile who I am and who _he_ is, but it’s... hard. Hard to know how much to keep as _my_ identity when it’s stolen from _him._ A sister I never met but know through her calls to him, through his memories of his childhood. A pair of nephews he never met, one of whom he didn’t know the right name for, and me meeting that nephew for myself. You’re right. I’m not him. I could never be him. But I know him a bit better than you and I know that he’d care about you as much as the rest of us do. He’d be just as disappointed if you ran away from him...”

Rig hums. “But... Mom never told him I ran away.”

“...No,” Nick says. “And he never got to find out why you had to.”

“So it’d be...” Rig hesitates. “It— It’d be bad for me to run away this time.”

“Rig.”

“Because you’d find me,” Rig says. “Because you’re a detective and Echo’s a detective, and Deacon’s pretending to be a detective but doing a great job at it. So it’s good I don’t want to run away.”

Nick rolls his eyes and chuckles. “Sure.”

“I owe you a story now?” Rig offers.

“You have one in mind?” Nick asks.

Rig looks skyward and hums a bit in thought. “When.... When I was growing up, back in Florida, the world was yellow. The floors, the walls, the lighting... All yellow. Smoke-stained but familiar. When I lived with Rig, the world was pale blue. My favorite color, safe but dull. Unexciting. After waking up in the vault, everything was gray, with only occasional color. Messy, fuzzy, unclear... But after waking up after you and the others rescued me from Pits? Full color, everything turning sharper and clearer. It always had been, but it never felt like it until then... But you, you’re yellow. Deacon is blue. Echo is gray. But you’re more than that. Vibrant, strong, beautiful. More color than just those three. And it feels safe. I feel happy. I feel like everything is... correct, in a weird way. That everything looks how it should. That I’m seeing things for what they are for once and... I know that’s not much of a story, but...”

“That’s a good story,” Nick smiles. “You ever thought about being a writer?”

Rig pouts. “...Maybe.” He looks off to the lights of the casino in the distance and frowns. “Is... Echo going to be okay?”

“Positive,” Nick answers. “This isn’t the first time she’s done something like this. I told you that story about the Triggermen today, after all.”

“Is it still today?” Rig asks, looking skyward again. “S’night. Hard to tell. Midnight hour, approaching and passed without a watch to tell how fast... Especially in October of all the months. You know I got my math wrong on my age?”

“Oh?” Nick asks.

“Birthday’s in December,” Rig answers. “34 right now. Or... Y’know, 246. I don’t still don’t count the years I was in the vault... I, uh...” He pats around for his bag and then opens it to pull out Lil’ Deacon to hug. “I might... outlive the rest of you, huh...?”

“...Do you really want to think about that right now?” Nick asks.

“No,” Rig says. “But when should I? When I finally lose one of you? I can’t stay lucky forever. I _didn’t_ stay lucky forever. Mongoose and Lady are still around, but Rig died in front of me— _because_ of me...”

“Hey, no,” Nick frowns. “That wasn’t _your_ fault. Ninety would have tried to kill him in the end anyway. Ninety using you as an excuse doesn’t mean it’s your fault. Besides, you know how badly the old Rig treated you.”

“...Yeah,” Rig answers. “But he... He was still my friend. But— But you’re right. It’s like saying my brother was still my brother. Means nothing if they treated me badly...” He sighs and swipes a hand down his face. “I... don’t want to be like them. I don’t want to treat people badly or hurt them. You know the reason I finally realized how badly I was doing at my job was because m’brother did something newsworthy that people at the lab were talking ‘bout? And— And I realized that I was in the same field. And that— that if someone like _him_ did something like _I_ was doing yet was getting praise for it that... maybe we weren’t doing good things after all... Because after everything he did, how could anything he did be _good_ in the end?”

“Well,” Nick says. “I’m glad you got out of that.”

“Yeah,” Rig says. “Same. It— It was bad for me, anyway. People judged me for talking bad-terrible so I had to be more careful ‘bout using words proper and not getting by on speaking just clear enough for context to make things I words understandable.”

Nick gives him a look. “You did that on purpose.”

Rig beams up at him and giggles. “Yep.” He hums. “I was also tired all the time. And people were mean, so I had to be mean.”

“...Really now,” Nick asks. “I can’t imagine you ever being mean.”

“I mean, I never swore a cuss,” Rig shrugs. “Maybe once or twice. But I didn’t treat people nice because that was the work culture and... Was bad. I’m lucky I left when I did. Gave me the chance to relearn to be good. If I woke up in Vault 113 having never left my work job then... I’d be much different. Might’ve helped Pits... Would have been bad... But that’s past versions of me that don’t exist anymore. I learned better, I’m better now. Past me made me who I am now. Present me is what matters and what to build off of for future me. S’all a cycle of growth, right?”

“Right...” Nick says.

Rig frowns and tilts his head up at him. “Something... wrong?”

“Maybe,” Nick says. He glances at Rig. “Not with you. But put your son away. We need to move.”

“Oh— Okay,” Rig says as he works on putting Lil’ Deacon away.

“Stay quiet,” Nick says. “Stay close.”

Rig furrows his brow, but he climbs back to his feet and sling his bag over his shoulder again. Nick takes off, and Rig follows after him, or at least does his best to in the dark when only one of them seems to be able to see where they’re going or knows what they’re moving away from.

He looks away for what he swears is only a second, but when he looks forward again, he can’t see Nick, or Nick’s silhouette in any case, in the darkness. He looks around, trying to see where Nick ran off to, tempted to call out but Nick told him to stay quiet. Nick must have been moving faster than Rig was stumbling...

He jumps at the sound of gunfire in the distance and he shouts.

Well. That’s something...

He stands like a stunned deer in headlights for another second, trying to process a plan of action.

_Hey,_ Raymond hisses in the back of his mind. _Don’t go that way. You’ll get shot._

Rig looks towards the lights of the casino. Even if he doesn’t know where Nick is— or if that’s Nick shooting at something or someone— he knows where Echo is... He’d be better off getting help than trying to do something when all he has on him for defense is a pillow and a teddy bear.

He double takes at the direction of the shots and then changes directions and speedwalks towards the casino. Nick will be fine without him. Probably better off if someone’s attacking him if he doesn’t have to worry about Rig being there.

_He’ll be worried about where you are, though,_ Raymond reminds.

“Shut up,” he mutters to himself. “He’ll be fine.” He sighs. _He’ll be fine,_ he thinks. **_We_ ** _won’t if we don’t get help._

_Fair,_ Raymond says.

Rig shakes his head and makes it within sight of the casino. A man at the door glances at his shirt and back up at him with an amused look, to which Rig smiles nervously and walks inside, grimacing as he turns away from the man.

...It’s loud in here. Not the casino sounds he remembers the one time he ever walked into a casino before, but still people laughing or shouting, playing cards and other gambling games or getting alcohol. He is _really_ out of his element here, especially if he doesn’t know where Echo is. And he can’t exactly ask if anyone has seen her either, if it means it might blow her cover trying to find March Evans...

He wanders in, looking around instead, brow furrowed and lips thinned in clear distress as the seconds pass by. At least he can actually see in here. Working lights are a commodity he always took for granted when he was alive—

_Before the war, kiddo,_ Raymond corrects.

Took for granted before the war...

“Excuse me?” someone asks, and he turns to see someone staring at him.

Rig blinks and waves. “Hi.”

The man smiles, brow lifting in amusement. “Hi? You looking for someone?”

“I— Yeah,” Rig says. He looks around and then back at the man. “I— I got separated from my group...”

“Describe them?” the man says. “I can talk to staff about looking for them.”

“Um...” Rig wrinkles his nose. “One of them... Is wearing a hat...?”

“...That describes half the patrons here, bud.”

“...One is wearing sunglasses?”

“At night?” the man asks. “Inside a building?”

Rig shrugs. “Nnn, yeah? I guess?”

The man shakes his head. “You... don’t know what your friends look like, do you? No other details what they’re wearing? What color their hair is or something?”

Rig hesitates. “Brown? Hair? I think?”

“...Did you actually come here with them or—?”

“Nnnno,” Rig says. “They came here before me and I’m trying to meet up with them.”

“Right,” the man says. “Well, you might be better off waiting in one place for them. Why don’t I buy you a drink?”

“No thanks,” Rig says. “Not thirsty.”

The man chuckles. “Not that kind of drink, bud.”

“Oh,” Rig says. “Nnn— I don’t drink.” He stands there a moment more and then turns. “Okay, bye,” he says, hurrying away before the man can say anything more.

Weird. Why would someone offer him a drink like that?

_...Hey, kiddo,_ Raymond says. _Remember how that other guy was flirting with you earlier today?_

He blinks. No. _No,_ why would anyone flirt with him? He never even understood Rig finding him attractive. Or Ninety. Or—

_Oh gosh,_ he thinks. _Did I grow up to be attractive? And never noticed? Have other people been flirting with me? Or is it the pineapple shirt?_

_It’s clearly the pineapple shirt,_ Raymond says.

_Yes, good._

_Kiddo, we both know you were making a joke._

Rig grimaces and looks around again. He blinks when he sees someone to the side of the bar, laughing and talking with a few different men. He frowns and shuffles over, trying to get a closer look to see if...

“Hey.”

Rig grimaces and turns around. He looks up to see the face of what looks like one the casino guards, and he waves. “Hi.”

The guard frowns at him. “You’re staring pretty hard at that gal.”

Rig blinks. “You mean the blonde lady over there? She looked familiar, I was— Sorry, was trying to figure out where I saw her before.”

“...Riiight,” the guard says. “If you’re trying something...”

“I’m gay,” Rig blurts out. Well, not too inaccurate...

“...Oh.” The guard frowns. “Alright, I’ll take you to see if you know her but if she doesn’t know you, you’re walking away.”

“Oh, sure, thank you,” Rig says. “‘Preciate it.”

“...You’re weird,” the guard says. He ushers Rig over to the woman, catching the attention of both the woman and the men she’s chatting with. “Ma’am, this idiot thinks he might know you?”

The woman blinks and then gasps. “Oh! Janus Blue! I remember you!”

Rig beams. “Oh, it is you! The— From Club Heavenly. I never caught your name?”

“I’m Babe,” the woman says. She giggles and pulls Rig into a tight hug. “Oh, it’s good to see you! You’re the cute little poet my dear Acutie and I talked to...” She sighs. “I miss him.”

Rig frowns. “Oh no, did something happen?”

_“Ninety_ happened,” Babe pouts. “Killed Acute, Obtuse, _and_ the boss.”

“Oh no,” Rig gasps. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s okay,” Babe says. She lets him go and toys with the pearls around her neck. “It’s been a few months. I had time to move on. I’m dating a new man now.”

Rig blinks. “Oh, good for you. Are you happy together?” His eyes dart to the men, one of the motioning at Rig and mouthing “who the fuck is this?” at one of the others.

“Very happy,” Babe beams. “Are you happy with your man?”

Rig sighs. “Yeah, but he ran off earlier and I don’t know where he went.”

“You’ll find him,” Babe says. “The casino is only so big.” She gasps. “Oh! I know! We can talk to _my_ man and he can try to find yours.”

“Oh, um...” Rig blinks. “No— No, I don’t want to bother anyone. It’s fine.”

Babe pouts. “Well. Do you want to meet my new man at least? I want you to make some poems for him and everything. He’d love you. He loves poems.”

“Oh, sure,” Rig says. “Is he—?” He gestures to the men at the table with her.

“Oh, no,” Babe giggles. “He doesn’t come downstairs often. Here, come with me.” She turns and blows a kiss at the other men. “See you next time, boys. Len, want to escort me and Jan upstairs?”

“Len”, the guard that brought Rig over, nods. “Sure thing, ma’am.”

“Great!” Babe bounces on her heels and grabs Rig by the wrist. “This way, Jan!”

“Oh— Sure,” Rig says, stumbling after her. He follows her out to a hallway and then to a stairwell, all with Len following behind them, probably as assurance that Rig won’t try anything.

“What’s in your bag anyway?” Babe asks.

“Uh...” Rig looks down at the bag. “A pillow, a teddy bear, some food, I think some first aid stuff? Caps maybe? My friend packed it for me.”

“You heading on a trip?” she asks.

“Sorta,” Rig says. “I don’t know where we’re going... I need to find her at some point. She’s the one, uh...” He makes a finger gun. “With— actual weapons knowledge.”

“Oh, you’re so cute,” Babe giggles. “You’re saying you don’t know how to defend yourself?”

“I mean,” Rig winces. “Not the thing I’d want to advertise—”

“You’re a poet, sweetie,” Babe smiles. “And you were a pushover with Acute and Ninety. There’s no shame in it. Not everyone can defend themselves. That’s why you have friends that can, right?”

“...It helps, for sure,” Rig says. “So... Who’s— Who’s your new man?”

“You’ll love him,” she says. She leads him up to a door and pulls out a key to unlock it and then pushes it open. “March, honey! I brought a friend!”

Rig blinks and looks into the room and sees an older gentleman sitting near the window. The man stands up, frowning at Rig as Babe pulls him forward. “March _Evans?”_ he asks, quiet and confused. He looks back to see Len close the door instead of joining them, presumably standing guard outside.

“A friend, Babe?” Evans asks.

“Mm-hmm!” Babe hums. She lets go of Rig and motions at him. “This is Janus Blue! I met him at Club Heavenly the night before Acute died... That poet I mentioned!”

“Oh, right,” Evans frowns. “The poet... Interesting taste in clothes.”

Rig pouts and adjusts his shirt. “I like my shirt... Um— So—” He hesitates, trying to figure out what is and isn’t safe to say. “So you... Are you March Evans?”

“...Yes,” Evans says. “You heard of me...?”

“Uh— Soooorta?” Rig grimaces. “Um... I— I heard you’re after Nick Valentine for some reason?”

Evans scowls. “Oh, don’t worry about _that._ That’s my own business.”

“Well...” Rig winces. “I understand that, yeah, but he’s— Do you have to kill him? I like him. He helped me with a thing before.”

“Well, _sure,”_ Evans rolls his eyes. “I’ll just call off my boys and leave Valentine alone.”

Rig brightens. “Really?”

_“God,_ what? No!” Evans glares at Rig. “Are you some kinda idiot?”

“Yeah, probably,” Rig sighs. “I’m a poet, not a diplomat.”

“Isn’t he cute?” Babe giggles. “A defenseless idiot who writes poems.”

Evans sighs and pinches his nose. “Babe, I love you, but you need to not bring home strays.”

“Love you too,” Babe says. She kisses him, and Rig respectfully turns away to give them privacy. “But you have to listen to one of his poems. They’re so good!”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Evans frowns. “Well, Blue? What kind of poems you got?”

“Uh— Well—” Rig pulls his journal from his pocket and flips through the pages for a good poem to read. “Hmm— Oh, uh—” He finds one and recites it.

_A heart of gold that reflects in his eyes_ _  
_ _Eyes of silver that are as sharp as her mind_ _  
_ _Caring, daring, and ever so kind_ _  
_ _A fine pair of lovers who each other would find_ _  
_ _A good match for each other in each of their steps_ _  
_ _Between tragic and magic and their darkest depth_ _  
_ _Held and beloved, a flirt and a kiss_ _  
_ _Something so obvious that it’s easy to miss_ _  
_ _A subtle exchange, a touch of their hands_ _  
_ _A Valentine and his Echo who both understand_

Evans nods along with it until Rig finishes, and he frowns. “...Well, alright. I guess Babe wasn’t exaggerating. But what’s your connection with Valentine?”

Rig blinks. “Uh— I— What?”

“That poem,” Evans says. “You not wanting me to hurt him. You’re connected to him somehow. _What is it?”_

“I— I, uh...” Rig closes his journal and slips it away. “I- I’m his... secretary.”

“...I see,” Evans says. “So... If he told you I’m after him— however it is he found out— then you must know my secret.”

Rig holds up his hands. “I— I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“He never told you about the March Evans he knew before?” Evans asks.

“...Old Man Carson’s son?” Rig offers.

“...Son?” Evans asks.

“Y— Yeah?” Rig asks. “Is— Is that wrong?”

“...No,” Evans says, eyeing Rig cautiously. “That’s right.”

“...Not that Carson knew, right?” Rig asks. He winces at Evans’ sudden scowl. “I— I understand. I left behind people who didn’t know I was their son too.”

Evans blinks. “What...?”

“I’m—” Rig rubs his neck. “I mean... Y’know. When— When someone has a child but doesn’t know that the child, uh... Y’know?” 

Babe gasps. “Oh dang! Really, Jan?”

Evans blinks. “Son, you’re not shitting me? You’re...?”

“Yeah,” Rig says. “Am, yeah. From what Nick told me and what I gathered? M’like you.”

Evans falls silent for a long, uncomfortable moment. He smiles. “Blue? How would you like a job offer.”

Rig blinks. “Um—”

“I can pay you far better than Valentine can,” Evans says. “Not that Valentine would be able to pay you for much longer. Can’t let him spill our secrets, right?”

“He wouldn’t,” Rig says. “I trust him— He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t share yours either—”

Evans frowns. “He told _you.”_

Rig winces. “Oh... Hmm.”

“So what’s stopping him from telling anyone else?” Evans asks. “You and I are in the same boat, Blue. Only, I’ve got control over this ship. Either way, Valentine will die. So you have to ask yourself. Would you rather work for me as my trusted confidant, or... do you want your secret told to the entire Commonwealth?”

Rig winces. “Oh— I— Shouldn’t have told you, huh?”

“Ha.” Evans smirks. _“Nope.”_

Rig groans. “Right— Stupid. _Stupid...”_

“Only you and Babe are allowed to know my secret,” Evans says. “And if you try and blab it, I’ll spill yours. But I don’t want to build our budding partnership on blackmail alone. Whatever you may want, I’ll get it for you. You’re young, right?”

“Well,” Rig says. “34...”

“Young enough to be my son,” Evans says. “I can tell you’re smarter than you act. You can be like the son I never had, and I’ll teach you everything you need to know as part of my gang. This is better for all of us. To prove it, tell me one thing you want. One person you want to get rid of, and I’ll have my boys take care of them.”

Rig shakes his head. “I don’t have anyone I... I don’t have...”

“No one?” Evans asks. “No one who may have hurt you before? Hurt people you care about?” He smiles. “No one who may know your secret and whatever name you used to go by?”

Ninety. Ninety. Ninety hurt him, hurt Deacon, killed the old Rig, knows too much about him... He could get rid of Ninety, no longer have to get weird, stalker-y letters or fear Ninety turning up to hurt him again.

Rig swallows. “N—”

“Yes?” Evans asks.

“No,” Rig says. “No, I... don’t have anyone like that.”

Evans frowns. “Okay. Then what do you want? Money? Power?”

“I want you not to hurt Nick,” Rig says. “He’s not going to tell anyone. I’m not going to tell anyone. Please, just...” He wrings his hands. “Please, we’re not... going to tell anyone. You don’t need to hurt him...”

Evans stares at him. “I was wrong. You’re even more of an idiot than you act.”

“Yeah,” Rig says, averting his gaze. “Yeah...”

“If you’re not going to work for me, I can’t let you live with my secret,” Evans says. “You understand that, right? Do I have to spell it out for you? Either you work for me or you _die._ I don’t care if you _are_ like me. I’m not taking that risk. I’ll kill you and spread your secret after the fact. Little bit of vengeance for going against me.”

Rig grimaces. “But why do you need to kill Nick?”

Evans scowls. “Look, son. If you’re keeping this secret too, then you must know old world values.”

“Yeah,” Rig says. “A bit too well...”

“Then you know how hard it is to rise to power and prestige with people knowing this kind of thing about you,” Evans says. “Maybe commonfolk don’t care, but anybody who’s anybody respects you more when you’re a _man_ and when you’re born to rich and powerful folk through _legitimate_ means.”

Rig blinks. “Wait... wait...”

Evans scoffs. “Mama couldn’t have some idiot nobody who thought he had a daughter with someone higher class ruining her reputation. Can’t exactly let anyone know I’m Carson’s bastard child or that I was born a girl like he thought when I was born a boy.”

“...Oh,” Rig says, shuffling backwards. “Ohhhh, I— Misunderstood the situation completely. Oh no. Uh...”

Babe blinks. “What? Jan, what are you saying?”

“I— Um...” Rig waves his hands frantically. “Buh— Bli—- I, ih— Ehnnnnn.”

Evans stares at him incredulously. “What the fuck did _you_ mean, then?”

Rig looks to the door and then to the window, trying to judge which would be more likely to kill him to try and escape through. On the one hand, guard outside the door. On the other, second story window. “Uh- Um... Y— Y’know. When. Your parents don’t treat you like their son, but more like... property? Like— Like not a person. Like you’re something they made but didn’t want to let be human—”

Babe gasps. “That’s why you’re so charming with your words despite being an absolute moron! You’re a synth!”

“What?” Rig asks. “No! I’m not— I— I don’t even know if that makes sense.”

“Honey, he’s a synth,” Babe hisses, grabbing onto Evans’ sleeve. “I changed my mind about him being cute and clever. He’s not really, he’s just made that way. Get rid of him.”

Rig flinches and points at the door. “I— I can leave—”

“Not alive you aren’t,” Evans scowls, pulling a gun. “Should have done this the moment you said you were Valentine’s secretary—”

There’s shouting and shooting outside the door, and Rig yelps and slaps his hands over his mouth, looking with wide, fearful eyes at Babe and Evans giving him confused looks. Evans frowns at the door and waves at Babe.

“Babe, darling, go hide somewhere safe,” he orders. He walks up to Rig and grabs onto him, holding him with an arm around his neck and pressing the end of the gun against Rig’s head as Rig struggles to stay balanced. Rig shuts his eyes tight and grabs on tight to the strap of his bag, letting the strap cut into his hands as he screams inside his mind.

Something— Someone breaks down the door.

“Not a step closer,” Evans barks, and Rig peeks an eye open to see Echo scowling and Deacon— 

Wait that’s _Deacon,_ Echo found _Deacon,_ Deacon’s safe and—

Evan pulls Rig closer, his arm tightening around his neck. “Let me guess. Valentine sent you to rescue Blue.”

“What the _fuck,_ Janus?” Echo demands.

Tears well in Rig’s eyes. “I don’t know how this happeeeeeeend,” he whines, sobbing pitifully.

“Not a step closer,” Evans orders. “Hands where I can see ‘em.”

Deacon raises his hands, empty of any weapons or items. Echo raises her hands... and then makes a small motion.

Rig flinches as the gun moves from his temple, and Evans lets go of him in surprise and he drops to the ground but sees the gun zip through the air and looks up in time to see Echo’s hand wrap around it and then point it back at Evans. Rig rolls out of the way and then out of the way of any gun barrels, rushing to Deacon’s side to hide behind him.

“What did you do with Nick?” Echo demands, a bit of blood running from her nose.

“What the fuck are you?!” Evans shouts, his own hands up in defense now.

“I’m not asking again,” Echo growls. “Where’s Nick?”

“No clue,” Evans scowls. “My boys haven’t found him yet, as far as I know.”

“Then how’d you get Janus?” Echo asks.

“My gal brought him here!” Evans says. “Ask _him_ what happened to Valentine.”

Echo keeps her eyes on Evans but tilts her head towards Rig. “Well?”

“He saw something and we were moving to get away from it,” Rig whispers. “But it was dark and I lost him and heard gunshots and came here ‘stead ‘cause didn’t know where else to go.”

“You didn’t see who he saw?” Echo asks.

“No,” Rig says. “Bevans wants to kill me, though. Can I leave?”

“You got this?” Deacon asks.

“I got this,” Echo says.

Deacon turns and grabs onto Rig’s arm and guides him out of the room. Rig leans into Deacon, grimacing as he hears the echo of bullets behind them.

“Hey, you’re okay,” Deacon says, smiling when Rig looks his way. “God, can’t leave you alone for a second, can I? Trouble-maker you.”

“Where’ve you been?” Rig frowns.

“Following a lead,” Deacon says. “I got a clue where Ninety might be—”

“Why are you going after Ninety?” Rig asks.

Deacon smiles. “Well, you know. Thought maybe I’d use the ol’ Deacon charm and convince him to stop sending you those letters—”

“Is ‘charm’ a synonym for ‘gun’ and is ‘convince’ a synonym for ‘kill’?”

“No, nonono,” Deacon says. “I know you don’t like killing people, and I’m not the biggest fan of it either—”

Rig squints. “So... You disappeared to... try and talk to someone who wants to kill you to make him stop sending me stupid nonsense letters?”

“Well, sure,” Deacon grins. His smile fades. “Do you... not want me to do that?”

“I don’t want you getting hurt,” Rig says. “If I’m in Diamond City, Ninety can’t get me, so even if the letters get in I’ll be fine. But if—” He grimaces. “If, if, if... If you run off and I don’t know where you went and you get hurt and—” He fumbles with his hands and then waves emphatically. “And I don’t want you to disappear and me not know what happened to you.”

“You don’t need to worry about that,” Deacon frowns. “I— You don’t need to worry about that, Rigs.”

“But I do,” Rig says. “And I won’t stop.”

Deacon thins his lips and says nothing else as they slip back downstairs and exit through a side door back into the night air. “...So we’ll wait for Echo and then try to find Nick. If he was supposed to be watching you, I’m sure he’s worried where you disappeared to.”

“I mean, I’m worried ‘bout him too,” Rig says. “All three of you... You’re— You’re the only people I know and trust. That I trust not to hurt me. I don’t want you hurt.”

Deacon flinches. “Oh... Yeah, about that...”

Rig blinks. “Did... you get hurt?”

“...Yeah,” Deacon says. “Got a splinter.”

“Oh,” Rig says. He looks at his bag and opens it to dig around. “Maybe I have tweezers—”

Deacon rests a hand on Rig’s arm and closes the bag as Rig pulls his hand out of it. “Rigster, I’m kidding.”

“Oh,” Rig says. “Then... Then...” He furrows his brow. _What did I say?_ he thinks.

_...Trust him not to hurt you?_ Raymond suggests.

Rig’s eyes widen. “What did you do?” he blurts out before slapping his hands over his mouth.

Deacon pulls back. “Hey, relax— It’s fine. Nothing happened—”

Rig looks over Deacon’s face, but it’s too dark and he’s not the best at reading expressions anyway. He keeps his mouth covered but whines a bit in distress.

“I need you to... uh... not get mad,” Deacon says. “But Echo would kill me if I didn’t, well... tell you the truth...”

Rig uncovers his mouth, just barely enough to whisper “What did you do...?”

“I—” Deacon rubs his neck. “Well, you know telling the truth is hard for me—” He flinches when Rig whines, louder and sharper in growing fear. “Relax it’s just... I _may_ have been, uh... going to see if the name Ninety might know is the one _I_ thought it was or... a different one...”

Rig blinks and lower his hands to grab onto his bag’s strap again. “I don’t— W— Why? What good would that do? If he knows the wrong one, it’s still— If he knows the right one then... He’d have to tell you and—” He straightens his posture, eyes wide, and swallows. “And you’d know the— the thing I don’t want you knowing.”

Deacon grimaces. “That’d be, uh... a side effect, yeah...”

“...But not the main goal?” Rig presses on.

“Yeah, no, of course not,” Deacon insists. “No, no, I— I know you don’t want me knowing. I wouldn’t go to _Ninety_ of all people to... find it out....”

“...But you want to know,” Rig says. “That’s still a thing you— That you’re hoping to find out.”

“It’s...” Deacon sighs. “Look, Rigsby. Trust me when I say I love and care about you. But I... I _need_ to know as much as I can about _everyone_ I deal with. It’s nothing personal. I’m just the kind of guy who feels safer knowing everything about a person. And it’s just that... Well you have _so much_ about you that I _don’t_ know and... and, well, that means there’s a lot about you I want to find out—”

“So you run off to a person who hurt me?” Rig asks. “To— To try and get him to tell you a name I don’t ever want spoken again?” He digs his hands into his hair, staring at the ground and not at Deacon. He _cannot_ look at Deacon. “Go— Go behind my back about the one thing I don’t want you knowing? Terrible— _Terrible,_ that’s— That’s terrible.”

Deacon winces. “Rigbert—” He reaches out, but Rig slaps his hand away.

“Don’t touch me,” Rig snaps at him. He holds onto himself and looks away again. “That’s— That’s so _mean,_ Deacon. Maybe it’s not personal to you but— No, no, it’s the most personal thing— It’s— It’s— That’s so _mean._ Didn’t you say Deacon’s not your original name?”

“I...” Deacon frowns. “Well— Yes, but—”

“And you don’t want me knowing who you were before?” Rig continues.

“Rig—”

“Yes or no?” Rig asks.

“...Yeah,” Deacon says. “I don’t.”

“And I don’t try to get secrets from you?” Rig asks. He frowns at Deacon’s silence. “So why am... Why don’t I deserve the same courtesy? I risked so much even telling you my history with Transparency. This just— This just proves I never should have trusted the three of you with that.”

“Woah, hey,” Deacon lifts his hand again, but then lowers it. “Hey, don’t blame Nick and Echo for _my_ mistakes. They don’t deserve that.”

“I told the three of you at the same time,” Rig says. “I should of waited. I— I _want_ you to know things about me. You get that, right? I don’t _want_ to have to hide who I am or the things that built me.” He sniffles and wipes his eyes as tears roll down his cheek. “I just— I just want to be able to decide for myself that it’s safe to tell you, not have you try and talk to people who hurt me to get information that would hurt me, y’know? You don’t know— I probably would have made a joke about my old name at some point and you’d know then— But I want to choose to volunteer this stuff, not— Not _this._ That’s _mean,_ Deacon.”

“I’m— I’m sorry.” Deacon sighs. “Alright? I’m sorry. I messed up. Not going to happen again. Promise. I mean, I’d get it if you didn’t trust me to keep that promise, but...” He sighs. “Should I go? Do you need some space?”

Rig latches onto Deacon’s arm and holds tight.

“Oh— Okay,” Deacon says. “Loosen up a bit, will ya?”

Rig holds less tight.

“There we go.” Deacon pats Rig’s arm. “You’re right to be mad at me. I figured I’d fuck up somewhere...”

“I love you,” Rig mumbles. “But if you do that again, I... might have to stop. I don’t want to have to stop.”

“You really are something, Rig,” Deacon sighs. “I’m sorry. But let’s go find Echo. She probably took a different exit.”

“You owe me _three_ apology Sunset Sarsaparillas now.”

Deacon smiles. “And what else?”

“Words,” Rig says. “Good words. And you don’t get to know my middle name yet now.”

“Aww,” Deacon whines. “I really did mess up! I didn’t know you have a middle name.”

“You don’t get to know it yet now,” Rig says. “I’m mad at you.” He leans over and gently headbutts Deacon affectionately. “I love you, but I’m mad at you.”

“Love you too,” Deacon says. “I should be grateful you’re taking this so well, huh?”

“...If it weren’t you or Echo or Nick, I’d punch you like I did that scientist, rember?”

“...Right.”

They walk around the side of the building until they find Echo looking around for them. Echo glances over them and lifts her brow.

“Told ya to talk to your boy, didn’t I?” she asks.

“Yeah,” Deacon sighs. “You told me.”

“Alright, Rig,” Echo says. “Where did you last see Nick?”

“It’s dark and I’m tired,” Rig says. “I can’t see anything and don’t know what’s where. I’m only not lost again for because holding Deacon’s arm.”

“...Do you have a guess at least?”

“That way,” Rig points. “I was somewhere in front of the front entrance of the place.”

“That works,” Echo says. “Deacon, you lead.”

“Whatever you say, Boss,” Deacon says, walking ahead.

After a few paces Rig turns his head back towards Echo. “Also, March Evans isn’t trans.”

Echo shakes her head. “Focus, Rig. We need to find Nick.”

“Right, sorry,” Rig says. He faces front again as they head away from the casino. Just their luck, that they find Deacon only to lose Nick... Rig lets go of Deacon’s arm and holds onto his hand instead.

Hopefully Nick is safe, wherever he is...


	8. Really Gotta Drive in the Point that Certain Individuals Messed Up Bad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deacon faces the consequences for what he did: an honest, mature conversation with the others. Also, Rig and Echo dream of ghost pops.

The search for Nick Valentine is quiet and tense and scary to do in the dark when Rig’s tired and stuck with his thoughts cycling through what Deacon tried to pull. It’s not fair. Rig tells him so much already. Why is that not enough for him? Why does he have to look for the exact things he doesn’t want him to know? Why did he have to try and find Ninety to do that...?

Rig blinks as Raymond thinks a quiet _wait, why was he at...?_

“Deacon?” Rig whispers.

“Yeah?” Deacon whispers back.

“You went to Carson’s?” Rig asks. “And then you were at the casino...”

“Aw, how’d you sleuth that out?” Deacon asks. “Maybe you should be a detective after all. Or did Echo tell you?”

“I told him nothing,” Echo says.

Rig furrows his brow. “What was the... Why those places if you were looking for Ninety...?”

Deacon goes silent. He holds Rig’s hand a bit tighter. “How much am I allowed to lie?”

“Um,” Rig frowns. “The... amount that puts me not in danger due to ignorance.”

“Great,” Deacon says. “So there were these death bunnies—”

“Wait, what level of lying is this?” Rig asks. “On a scale of 5 being everything is false.”

“Eh, a three?”

“Lower, please.”

“Carson was pals with the Angels,” Deacon says. “Said he had some information about Ninety he’d give me if I looked into if that March Evans he heard about was his kid. Of course, he probably wasn’t expecting Evans to kill him that night... That’s when I heard they were going to go after Nick too and figured I’d head that off, but leave it to the _Lost Guardian_ to be on the case too.”

“Okay,” Rig says. “Was that a two or a one?”

“One point five.”

“Good enough,” Rig says. “That’s with zero being no lies, right?”

“Right.”

“Yeah, good enough.” Rig furrows his brow. “Should we have found Nick by now?”

“Hard to say,” Echo says. “Depends on what happened to him and if he’s looking for us too.” She gasps and takes off running. “This way,” she calls back at the two of them.

“Wait, I can’t see—” Rig grimaces and whimpers at Deacon.

“I can see where she’s headed to,” Deacon says. “It’s okay. We’ll walk.”

“Okay, thank you,” Rig says. “Sorry...”

“Don’t worry,” Deacon chuckles. “Sprinting’s not for everyone. Of course, you’re talking to the three year champion of the Commonwealth annual 50-yard dash... And that’s a hard race to win what with so many people out there having practice running from things like deathclaws and bloatflies...”

“So,” Rig says. “If over four dozen of the fastest racers had a party after, would it be a 50-starred bash?”

“...I love you,” Deacon says, quiet and quick. “Well one year,” he continues without breaking the rhythm. “They had Diamond City’s security compete and they all ran into each other. It was a 50-guard crash.”

Rig giggles. “Did they ever knock over a torch onto someone’s large set of hidden goods? A 50-charred stash?”

“No, but one time, a whole group of poets and performers all tripped into the water...”

“50-bard splash,” Rig laughs.

“You got it,” Deacon chuckles.

“You two done?” Echo asks from where she’s propping up an injured Nick nearby.

“I don’t care what you’ve heard,” Nick says. “Laughter’s not the best medicine. I could use a stimpak.”

“Shoot yourself in the leg, Nick?” Deacon asks, kneeling down to help Echo fix the problem.

“How bad a shot do you think I am?” Nick demands. “No, some other folks ambushed me. They ran off after saying something about me being the wrong person. So I’m assuming they weren’t working for Evans.” He looks up to Rig. “Well, glad to see you didn’t get into trouble on your own.”

Rig winces. “You mean me...?”

Nick frowns. “What did you do?”

“Ehn...” Rig shrugs. “Evans’ girlfriend is someone I met at Club Heavenly so she brought me to him and um... St— Stuff happened. He tried to kill me? Echo... did... something... gun?”

“Oh, I have telekinesis,” Echo says.

“Oh,” Rig says. “...You have a number of powers I’m unaware about.”

Echo looks up at him, nose wrinkled incredulously. “You keep telling me not to tell you!”

“I know,” Rig says. “I’m just... Pointing it out.” 

Echo shakes her head. “Well, keep it to yourself. I don’t like talking about it. And don’t talk about my abilities in public _ever.”_

Rig sighs. “Right... S’why I don’t want to know...” He wipes a hand down his face, holding it in place over his mouth as he looks around at anything that isn’t Echo and Deacon trying to fix Nick’s leg in the dark. He lowers his hands and waves it helplessly. “...Can you see in the dark too?”

“You can’t?” Deacon asks.

Rig squints. “...You can?”

“You think I wear sunglasses at night for show?” Deacon chuckles. He winces when Echo gently smacks his arm. “Okay, okay, so maybe I’m just _stubborn._ But it _does_ help with night vision.”

“Yeah,” Echo says. “Don’t recommend it for you, though.”

“No, it’s okay,” Rig says. “I work better daylight side anyway.”

“Reminds me,” Nick says. “Echo, know any sun gods?”

“Who’s asking?” Echo asks.

“Rig, apparently.”

“Oh, no,” Rig says. “No, I’m fine. I’m not ready to start a new relationship with a god. I’m still getting used to having a relationship with a person.” He pauses. “But if you know about any sun gods, I’d still be curious...”

Deacon laughs. “Well, let me tell you about the god _Apollo...”_

“Why do you think I picked the name?” Rig pouts. “I used to have a crush on him. He’s not the best of people though, traditionally. None of the Greek gods really were— well, a few, but the ones you hear about all the time are the ones that are jerks. Apollo was fun, though...” He wrings his hands and then furrows his brow. “So— So, um... March Bevans taken care of...?”

“Yep,” Echo says.

“And we found Deacon...”

“Or one of Deacon’s clones,” Deacon says.

“We found Deacon,” Echo says.

“So...” Rig waves his hands again. “Um. Are we done? Do we go back to Diamond City? Or— Or do we keep looking for Ninety to make him stop the letters?”

Deacon looks up at him, lifting his brow in surprise. “I’d feel much better if you _didn’t_ get anywhere near Ninety. Once morning hits, Echo and I can go look for him if you really want us to, and Nick can take you back to Diamond City.”

“Oh,” Rig says. “I— Hmm.”

“We can discuss it in the morning,” Nick says. He accepts Echo’s help up and leans on her. “But we _should_ find shelter for tonight. Before anyone working for Evans finds out what happened and heads our way.”

“We’ll fix your leg properly once we get somewhere safe,” Echo says, giving Nick’s hand a gentle squeeze.

“I know a place close to here,” Deacon says. He stands up and grabs onto Rig’s hand and the motions for them to follow him. “Come on. This way.”

After a bit of walking, they get to a shelter, and Deacon finds some lanterns inside for light. He shows Rig to a room and then heads back to help Echo bring Nick into a second room to finish his leg repairs.

“I got it from here,” Echo says. “Go back to your boy.”

Deacon cocks his head and grins. “Oh, I get ya. You need some privacy to protect Nick’s _purity.”_

“Excuse me?” Nick asks, his face blushing blue as he scowls.

Deacon clicks his tongue and points finger guns. “I get it. If you have to take off your pants for your lady friend to fix your leg, you don’t want other folks seeing.” He blocks a pillow that Echo throws at him and laughs.

“Just get back to your boy already,” Echo orders, pointing towards Rig’s room.

Deacon holds up his hands in surrender and backs out of the room. He shoves his hands in his pockets as he heads back to where Rig will probably be waiting, half-asleep and curled up around Lil’ Deacon—

Or... Rig will be waiting, wide awake, sitting on the bed with his pineapple shirt already off and folded and Lil’ Deacon nowhere to be seen.

“You owe me words,” Rig says and nothing else.

Deacon stares, silent for a moment, and he then slides in and closes the door behind him. “What kind of words?” he asks, taking off his wig and setting it safely to the side with Rig’s bag.

“The— The bedroom. Kind.” Rig waves his hands. “You— You know. Like before. I... I’d like to, um... If that’s okay...”

“What’s the limitations for today?” Deacon asks. He sits down next to Rig and takes a hold of his hand. “Are kisses on the table this time? More touching? Above the waist things?”

“Um... Yeah, that’s good.” Rig lays his head on Deacon’s shoulder. “I don’t know how many kisses, but some are okay. Touching— Touching’s good. I mostly want words, though.”

Deacon chuckles. “You really are a word slut, aren’t you?”

“Not those words,” Rig frowns, nudging him gently. “I still— You did something really bad to me, Deacon. You realize that? It’s— It’s hard for me to forgive people who hurt me. Too used to them hurting me and then... still hurting me the same ways after fake apologies. I don’t want to _not_ forgive you, but you— This was _really bad,_ what you did.”

“...Yeah,” Deacon says. “You— You know, you always try to put aside your needs for other people... I guess I... didn’t think this would be different, but... But I should have. Everyone has their limits. This is the one need you made vocal and I just ignored that. I won’t do that again. Look, you...” He turns and presses his forehead against Rig’s and gently strokes Rig’s cheek. “You don’t _have_ to forgive me. That’d be unfair to make you do. You don’t have to trust me that I’ll keep my word. But if there’s anything you can trust, it’s that I’m in your corner. Always have been. I can’t guarantee I won’t step on any toes again... I’ve spent the last who knows how many years doing this kind of thing to keep myself and others safe, that I didn’t think that maybe I didn’t need to this time. But if you’re willing to keep me around, then I’m willing to try and be better than that. I never meant to hurt you, but I did, and I’m sorry.”

Rig rests his hand on the one on his cheek. “Those are good words, yes. That’s what I wanted to hear, and I hope you mean it...”

Deacon holds back a flinch. “Right...” He smiles. “You still want some fancier wordplay than that?”

Rig smiles as well. “Ye— Yeah... Please?” He points down at the bed. “So just... Lie down and say some good, sweet and creative things?”

“Whatever you want, Rigsby,” Deacon chuckles. He sets his sunglasses aside and waits for Rig to get settled and then lies down next to him. He strokes Rig’s cheek, and Rig’s hands start roaming to push Deacon’s shirt up and find the places Deacon enjoyed before. Deacon steals a quick kiss before he says anything. “I would stay up all night to find the sun rise in your eyes,” he starts, and he grins at Rig’s amused giggles. “It dawns on me how radiant you are in a different light. The Sol person to bring down my defenses. To rise to the challenge to set me straight...”

“Good, good,” Rig whispers.

Deacon kisses him again, and Rig smiles against it. Deacon smiles in turn and traces a hand down Rig’s back. “I would break a day to see you shine. A sol-ar-row of love is enough to light my mornings in heats hues, casting glares from jealous gods from the brilliance you cast...”

Rig takes a moment to respond to that one. “Romantic, huh?” he asks. His hands stop roaming and he instead reaches for Deacon’s cheek, mimicking the motion Deacon made earlier. “Um... don’t be literal... but how— how far would you want to go...?”

“...You sure?” Deacon asks. “I don’t want to scare you off. Again.”

“You haven’t yet,” Rig answers. “I scared _you_ off, not the other way ‘round.”

“Right...” Deacon pauses as he thinks over what to say... “Apollo,” he starts, and that’s enough to draw Rig’s full attention, looking at his face in the dark and edging closer, body pressed in close... “I burn for the warmth of your light. The sun may set, but I would rise for you. I want to bathe in your solar flares, enough to burst, hot and white, in the hidden depths the sun does not reach. To see you beam in radiant joy... To see a ray of pleasure light up your face... If I could dawn upon you with your first blush—if I could bask in the rise of your sun—it would be my Sol delight.”

Rig grips tight to the back of Deacon’s shirt. “...But it’s okay if we don’t?” he whispers, almost afraid.

Deacon blinks, brow raising, and he instinctively holds Rig tighter. “Of course— Of course it’s okay. It’s not a deal breaker, and I love you just as much with or without doing _that._ Leave that to the love birds in the other room.”

“Because you know I can’t do that, right?” Rig asks. “It’s— I mean...”

“You don’t have to justify it,” Deacon assures. “That’s your business. I can respect that.”

Rig buries his face against Deacon’s neck. “...But you can’t respect me not wanting you to know my dead name?” he mumbles, probably not wanting Deacon to hear...

Deacon grimaces, glad Rig can’t see. “...Is _that_ a deal breaker, that I did that? I promise, when Echo and I go to deal with Ninety, I won’t be asking for anything I shouldn’t have.”

“People hurt me before, Deacon,” Rig continues to mumble. “People who were supposed to care about me. Family _and_ friends. Thinking about it gets all icky in my head. I already tell you more than I tell anyone else about me and my secrets. 34 and you’re the first person I told about Raymond.”

Deacon blinks. “...Who?”

“Maginary friend,” Rig clarifies. “Started— started imaginating him again. New name.”

“Oh. Cute.”

“Yeah.” Rig pulls away and looks up towards Deacon’s face. “I’m... going to tell you one more thing. And if that’s not enough for you and you go looking for things I said I don’t want you knowing again, I’m going to be even more upset than I am now, okay?”

“Is it your middle name?” Deacon guesses, smiling nervously.

“It’s...” Rig sighs. “The... name you _did_ say...? Don’t say that name around me again. I— I don’t know how Pits got _that_ name on file instead of the actual one, but...” He reaches for Deacon’s hands and holds tight. “That’s my _brother’s_ name.”

“...Right,” Deacon says. “Okie-dokie. Won’t bring it up again.”

“...I love you,” Rig says.

“Love you too,” Deacon says. “You want me to hold you tonight?”

“Hold each other?” Rig offers.

“Sure.”

“Okay. Night.”

“Night, Rigs.”

* * *

Echo rolls down Nick’s pant leg and sighs in relief. “There we go. All better.”

“Thanks, Doc,” Nick chuckles. “Is this where you give me a lollipop and send me on my way?”

Echo snorts. “I can give you something sweet.”

“Oh?” Nick asks. He smiles into the kiss Echo gives him and pulls her into his lap. “Kissing it better, huh?” he asks before giving her a kiss in return.

“I was worried,” Echo says, soft and quiet as she wraps her arms around Nick. “You were already in danger, but then when Rig was there without you and didn’t know where you were... I was worried Evans’ boys got to you.”

“I don’t think Evans’ boys even knew I was out there,” Nick assures. “Don’t know who those other folks were, but other than a minor leg injury, I could handle them.”

“You’re lucky it _was_ minor,” Echo frowns at him. _“And_ you lost your son.”

“Right,” Nick winces. “Guess I’m too used to travelling with a pair of people who wear sunglasses at night and yet can somehow still see where they’re going.” He frowns. “Speaking of, didn’t think we’d kill two birds with one stone making this trip. You found Deacon, huh?”

“Yep,” Echo frowns. “Three guesses what he was doing.”

Nick groans. “He really was trying to...?”

“Yep.”

“But why go to the casino?” Nick asks.

“Intel on where Ninety would be,” Echo says. “Somehow he figured out to go to Carson and turns out Carson is friends with whoever Ninety is staying with now. Carson said some of those people were planning to make a visit to the casino, but we spotted each other before he could find them and he decided to help me instead when I called him out.”

“What are we going to do about him?” Nick sighs.

“Hey, I’ve already told him he’s being a little shit,” Echo says. “Rig’s _really_ mad at him, as much as he’s trying not to look like it. If Deacon doesn’t learn from that, I did all I can do. You’re welcome to try and talk some sense into him next.”

“Right,” Nick frowns. “I might try talking with him before we split up tomorrow morning. Though _you’ve_ at least gotten him not to lie to you. _I_ might just get the runaround.”

“He knows I’ll just call him out on his bullshit,” Echo says. “Helps being able to tell when people are lying, _Detective.”_

Nick sighs and shakes his head. “So. Evans is taken care of, huh?”

“He had Rig at gunpoint and you were MIA,” Echo says. “I wasn’t exactly willing to negotiate.”

“How did that idiot get _there?”_ Nick sighs. “I understand getting lost in the woods, but he really decided to follow the casino lights like a moth to a flame... But somehow getting all the way to Evans... I should have kept a closer watch on him.”

“He said something about knowing Evans’ girlfriend,” Echo says. “She ran off, before I could see her in person. She was dating one of the Angels, the one that Rig met at Club Heavenly, and she took Rig to Evans without knowing his connection to you.”

“...Huh,” Nick says. “She moved on fast, then.”

“Yep,” Echo says.

“Well, I’m sure she’ll find another rich boyfriend to mooch off of,” Nick hums. He grows quiet, softens his tone, and reaches to stroke Echo’s cheek. “I’m sorry I made you worry.”

“It worked out this time,” Echo says. She smiles and rests her hand on Nick’s. “It could have gone a lot worse. So you better stay safe on the way back to Diamond City. I don’t want to have to rescue you from some random gang a _sixth_ time.”

“No promises,” Nick chuckles. “Who knows? Maybe it’ll be a cult this next time.”

“Don’t say that,” Echo sighs. “You’ll just jinx it.”

Nick smiles and gives another kiss. “Ready to get some rest?”

Echo groans and flops into the bed. “I’m already asleep,” she answers. “Good night.”

Nick shakes his head in amusement. “Good night, dear.”

* * *

The radio is playing something muffled and distant. The kitchen is blue with dark spots in the corners of his eyes. Just a lovely fall day, Halloween on the horizon, a pumpkin carved and sitting in the window with a face that changes every time he looks at it. He wraps tissues around lollipops and draws faces onto the “ghosts” for trick-or-treaters, though his pile of lollipops seems to both never diminish and to appear in a different spot than usual each time he reaches for it.

_“...oh, cute.”_

He blinks and looks up and smiles. “Oh, hi,” he says as he stands. “Here.” He hands the static-face man a ghost lollipop and then heads for the kettle. “Sorry I didn’t already have the tea started.”

_“that’s fine, apollo,”_ static-face man says. _“i shouldn’t wait long tonight, if i want to see Samara—”_

“Oh, that reminds me,” he says as he sets the kettle to boil. “Someone told me you’re a real life person?”

_“...you didn’t know?”_ static-face man asks.

“I have recurring dreams a lot,” he says. “Wasn’t sure. Psyker or something, they said?”

_“...yes,”_ the man answers. _“like Samara.”_

“Okay, great,” he says. “I don’t know who that is, but that’s okay.”

The man stands there awkwardly, lollipop ghost in hand, while Apollo turns around to prepare a cup of tea for him. _“you’re not making two cups today,”_ he notes.

“Don’t have the brand I like,” Apollo answers. “Rig thinks the brand I like is ‘spensive. Using a cheaper brand till I sell another poem.”

_“i see.”_

“It was easier when I worked at Legato,” Apollo says. “Then I could afford all the tea and Sunset Sarsaparilla and everything. Bad people, though. Never should have—” He turns around with the cup of tea and looks over the static-face man again. “...Oh, right, this is a dream... What’s your name?”

The man walks up and takes the tea from Apollo. _“gray.”_

“That’s a good name,” Apollo says. “Echo’s gray.”

_“she is,”_ Gray says, nodding and lifting his mug in acknowledgement. _“till next time.”_

“Bye,” Apollo waves, and Gray walks out of the dream. Apollo leans against the counter and furrows his brow. “...I lied about Legato,” he mutters. “I—”

Rig jerks awake in the real world as Deacon shifts.

“Oh, whoopsie-daisy,” Deacon says. “I was trying _not_ to wake you.”

“Hhh— wha?” Rig asks, blinking in confusion. “Somethib hinba buhbuhbuh?”

“Absolutely,” Deacon says. “I’m handling it, though. Go back to sleep.”

“Ennn ‘kay,” Rig says. He lies his head back down and flips over.

Deacon chuckles and gets out of bed and Rig frowns and flips over once more to watch him head to Rig’s bag. Deacon comes back with Lil’ Deacon and sets the teddy bear against Rig for Rig to grab onto and hold.

“Night, sleeping beauty,” Deacon says as he walks away.

“Night,” Rig mutters, watching the door close and staring at it instead of going to sleep.

_“...Should you trust that he’s not running off on his own again?”_ Raymond asks.

“I want to,” Rig mumbles, pressing his face into Lil’ Deacon.

_“Right,”_ Raymond says. “ _I’m sure he’s just using the bathroom or something. Talking with the other two. He’ll be back soon.”_

“You’re making me nervous,” Rig says into Lil’ Deacon’s fur.

_“I’m only saying what you’re having me say,”_ Raymond sighs. “ _I’m_ **_imaginary,_ ** _kiddo. I don’t have thoughts of my own. Also, you’re having me talk out loud again.”_

“...Oh.” Rig shuts his eyes and sighs. He flips onto his back and stares at the ceiling. ...What was he even dreaming about...? The... the static man. Gray? Gray. Gray and tea and Halloween candy... Little lollipop ghosts...

He flutters his eyes shut and holds Lil’ Deacon over his chest. Cute little... ghostie sweets... sweet— sweet dreams...

...Echo walks off the “stage” of the script provided by whoever had once lived in the home she’s in, out of their echo to address the god damn stupid jerk walking in twenty minutes into the dream with tea and a ghost lollipop. She holds out her hand towards her father and without pretense or emotion states “that better be for me.”

Gray looks down at the lollipop in his hand. _“...it is.”_ He hands it to her.

Echo swipes it up and snorts. “Are you trick-or-treating in dreams again? Gotta say, you need a better costume.”

Gray sighs. _“Samara, please.”_

“What?” Echo asks. “I never asked you to fuckin’ waltz into my dreams. Yet.” She waves her hands to motion at him. “Here we are again.” She unwraps the lollipop and sticks it in her mouth. Hmm. Strawberry.

_“...i learned more about delphi,”_ Gray says.

She tugs the candy out of her mouth with a _pop!_ “A’ight,” she says. “I’m listening... but you’re still on thin fuckin’ ice.”

_“they seek the poisoned blood of a god, to make an elixir of life.”_

Echo jumps when the door to the room opens to Deacon saying “rise and shine, we’ve got to—” only to be interrupted by her throwing her pillow at him.

“Owwww,” Deacon whines.

“Serves you right for not knocking,” Nick mutters under his breath.

“Deacon, what the _fuck,”_ Echo demands as she dips under Nick’s coat, her favorite blanket, to snuggle closer to Nick.

“...I wanted to get going to find Ninety,” Deacon says. “You know, before Rig wakes up.”

Nick snorts. “You mean leave him behind without telling him you left again.”

Deacon winces. “Well, I mean...”

“You’re too afraid to face him?” Nick asks. “What is it? That you’re trying to leave before _he_ changes his mind about you going, or before _you_ change your mind?”

“...Yes,” Deacon says and nothing else.

“Dude,” Echo groans. “My _dad_ showed up again. Just _give me a moment.”_ She holds tighter to Nick. “Fucking... Ghost pops...”

“You’re not leaving yet,” Nick tells Deacon. “I don’t think Echo’s ready to go. Besides, after what you tried to pull on my _son?_ You and I have to have a talk before you go anywhere.”

Deacon winces. “I regret going along with the joke now...”

“What makes you think it’s a joke?” Nick asks. “If you’re not going to go back to bed, then you get breakfast started at least. We’ll join you when Echo’s ready.”

“Damn right,” Echo adds, almost completely under Nick’s coat at this point.

Deacon holds up his hands in surrender. “Alright, got it... I’ll go see what I can put together. You two enjoy your cuddling.”

“Don’t make me throw another pillow at you,” Echo grumbles.

Deacon sighs and retreats, closing the door behind him.

Nick shakes his head. “You’re not getting any more sleep are you?” he whispers, stroking Echo’s hair.

“Ha... _Nope.”_

__

* * *

Sometime later, Echo and Nick finally leave their room to meet with Deacon.

“Just in time for porridge,” Deacon says, pouring out a bowl for Echo. “Rig’s still sleeping. Think he’ll take another 200 years to wake up?”

“Did you eat already?” Echo asks.

“Mm, sure.”

“I’ll wake him up,” Echo says. “Pour another bowl for him and then go have a talk with Nick.”

Deacon winces. “Whatever you say, boss.”

Echo heaves a breath and shakes her head. Deacon pours that second bowl and then stands up and wipes his hands on his pants.

“So,” he says before clasping his hands with a nervous grin at Nick. “How much trouble am I in with the ‘rents?”

“Depends,” Nick says. “How upset is Rig about this?”

Deacon clears his throat. “Well. If he trusted me before, I don’t know if he still does...”

Nick sighs. “Step outside with me.” He leads the way out until they’re safely outside where the other two can’t hear them. Nick pulls out a cigarette and a lighter and frowns at Deacon as he flicks the lighter on. “We both know you knew what you were doing was wrong. And I bet you know you wouldn’t be able to keep it secret what with Echo. I just want to know why you decided to go through with it anyway? What did you expect to happen?”

“Do I have to talk about this?” Deacon winces. “I already had this talk with Echo last night. It’s the only reason I told him at all.”

“Then you should already have an answer,” Nick retorts. “So? What is it?”

“I’m not—” Deacon frowns. “I’m not exactly going to spill my own secrets here, Valentine. It’s over with. I admitted I did it. He doesn’t trust me anymore. It doesn’t matter.”

“I think it does,” Nick frowns in return. “Were you _trying_ to get him not to trust you anymore...?” He pauses at Deacon’s silence, and his voice softens. “Oh... Kid, look—”

“I’m not good for him,” Deacon says. “I shouldn’t even _be_ here. I was supposed to get him to you and Echo and then keep my distance, not— Not _fall_ for him. For someone who I can’t get a read on, who seems like he has more secrets than _I_ do, who is— who is the only person I trust _not_ to be a threat but who scares me because what if I’m wrong? I like him enough to want to stay, but I _need_ more info on him— I need to be able to keep my distance when everything goes wrong.”

“Deacon,” Nick sighs. “Of course it’ll go wrong if you’re expecting it to...” He watches Deacon closely... Looking for any break to his poker face. “That’s not all, is it?”

“...It’s going to sound petty.”

Nick rolls his eyes. “Tell me anyway.”

Deacon sighs. “I’m... _jealous._ You and potentially Ninety get to know. But _I_ don’t? When _I’m_ his boyfriend?”

“Well, get over it,” Nick frowns. “The only reason I know is because I didn’t even know that was _him_ when I said the name. And I’m obviously not going to tell you, or else you would have gone to me instead of to someone who wants to kill you and kidnap your boyfriend.” He furrows his brow and hums. “But... What exactly would you get out of knowing? What’s one name going to do when we already know all evidence of that name and anything connected to it is gone?”

“A modern-day Ozymandias,” Deacon comments. “Just like the stupid letter that started all this...” He shrugs. “You got me there, Nick. Didn’t think that far ahead.”

“I don’t trust that for a second,” Nick says. “Knowing you, you were planning three steps ahead. You just weren’t expecting to get caught so soon.”

“If I knew you’d wander your way to Carson’s...” Deacon sighs. “You know he told me he might have told me if I had waited? I guess it’s just... the uncertainty of when he’d tell me things that I want to know now that got to me. This is why it’s better if we weren’t together.”

“...Is that so?” Nick asks. He points inside. “Then you go in there and break his heart right now. If you’re so convinced you’re no good for him, then do him the kindness of getting the hell out of his life.”

“What?” Deacon asks. “No— No, I can’t do that to him— I can’t...”

“You can’t what?” Nick demands.

“...I can’t...” Deacon looks up at Nick from over his sunglasses. “I can’t lose someone else because of my own stupidity... I already lost so many folks in my life, but... You, Echo, _Rig..._ If I lose the three of you because of this... It doesn’t even make for a good _story!”_ He puts on a childish voice. _“Gee Mr. Deacon, how did you lose your boyfriend and family?”_ He answers himself in a “manlier” version of his own voice. “Well, Lil’ Tommy, I tried to find out my boyfriend’s old name after he told me not to.” Lil’ Tommy answers _“Gee! That’s fucked up!”_ He answers “I know, Lil’ Tommy, I know.” He groans and buries his face in his hands. “What if he never forgives me? What if he never trusts me again?”

Nick silently smokes his cigarette, watching Deacon during his one-man scene. “...Does he have to?” he asks at last. “What have you done to earn forgiveness or trust? It _just_ happened last night, kid. Give him some time and don’t be an ass, and I’m sure he’ll come back around. As long as you’re not as bad as, well, you know. His brother... Ninety... the old Rig... It’s a pretty easy bar to pass.”

“Right,” Deacon sighs. “And you know me. The Commonwealth’s champion pole vaulter, 8 years running.”

“Just don’t do something like this again,” Nick says. “Or Echo will have to show you how great she is at _shot put.”_

“Oh, fun,” Deacon smiles nervously. “You know she gave me that same line...? I’m starting to think it’s not a joke.”

“She’s telekinetic, Deacon.”

“Ohhhh _right.”_ Deacon hums. “That would make it easier, huh?”

“But all this aside,” Nick says. “I’m proud of you for being open about things for once. This is the most I’ve heard you tell the truth in a while, even if I’m sure you threw some lies in there.”

“Oh, no, it was _all_ lies,” Deacon says. “You know me.”

“Deacon.”

“...Okay, so maybe it was the porridge,” Deacon says. “I’ll make a note: porridge is a truth serum. End note. Read. Committed to memory. Note destroyed for security purposes.”

Nick shakes his head. “Two steps forward, one step back... We’ll work on it. Meanwhile, I’m sure Echo’s done with her talk with Rig. We should head back in so you can say goodbye before leaving again.”

“Yeah...” Deacon says. He grins. “Synths first?”

Nick frowns and gestures inside. “No, after you. _I insist.”_

Deacon holds up his hands in surrender and walks back in. Time to face Rig...

* * *

Echo listens to Nick and Deacon walk away to talk while she heads for the other room. She knocks on the door and hears a hum of acknowledgement from inside and then peeks in. “Oh. You’re awake. Morning.”

“Morning,” Rig waves. He has his bag on the bed with some of the contents spilled out, in the process of putting everything away. “Was seeing what you packed for me...”

“Good,” Echo says, opening the door fully to stand in the doorway. “This will be your bag for future trips too, you know. I can’t carry all your shit all the time.”

“Yeah, okay,” Rig says. He glances up at her and then cranes his neck to look past her. “Is Deacon...?”

“Out talking with Nick,” she says. “He made us porridge for breakfast. Razorgrain and tarberry, probably.”

“Oh, okay.” Rig smiles, shoulders relaxing as he chuckles in relief. “That’s good to hear...”

Echo cocks her head. “You were worried he left without saying good-bye...?”

Rig winces and starts to shove everything back into his bag haphazardly. “I— Ih— Uh— Ehnn...”

“Rig, relax,” she says. When Rig doesn’t relax, she walks in and up to him. “Rig...”

“It’s— It’s stupid, isn’t it?” he asks, waving his hand frantically as the other puts things away. “I should— I should be able to trust him, right? I— I mean it’s not like I got another nightmare from stress or— or—”

“Rig.” 

Rig sighs. “Sorry, I—”

“Stop apologizing, nerd,” Echo scoffs. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“...Yeah,” Rig says. “I should know that, but...”

“You’re allowed to be worried about what Deacon might do,” she says. “He hurt you, in the one way you told him not to. You’ve talked with him about that, right?”

Rig nods. “Yeah... I just... Feel bad.”

_“He_ hurt _you,”_ Echo says. “You don’t need to feel guilty. He knows what he did was wrong, so that’s on him.”

“Yeah,” Rig sighs. “But I just... want to be able to let it go and trust he won’t do it again. But I... don’t like forgiving people who hurt me when they aren’t sorry for it. I don’t know how to trust he’s sorry for it.”

“...Can you trust me?” she asks.

Rig furrows his brow. “I think... yes, I can trust you.”

“Then... trust that Nick and I aren’t going to let Deacon do anything like this again,” she says. “And if Deacon does, the two of us are on your side for whatever you decide to do about it that doesn’t lead to you getting yourself hurt. But trust me that Deacon cares about you a lot. He’s just a goddamn idiot that needs to be reminded that ‘hey, that’s not cool’ because he’s working on being better but isn’t quite there yet.” She shakes her head. “But if you want to give him a chance, we’re on your side. We want to make that clear, alright? All of us, even him, know that it wasn’t cool, what he tried to pull. I’ll make sure he doesn’t break your trust again when we go to deal with Ninety...” She smiles. “But he cares about you a lot, so I think he knows he’s in the doghouse if he tried a second time.”

“...I just want to be happy and safe,” Rig says. “And I just want my friends happy and safe. Just— You two stay safe, okay? I don’t like hurting people, but... I don’t want people hurting you either...”

“Of course,” she nods. “I’ve done this kind of thing before. We know how to stay out of harm’s way. You and Nick just get back to Diamond City and we’ll come back soon as we can to celebrate. Ready for breakfast?”

Rig puts the last of his stuff in his bag and nods. “Yeah... Thank you.”

“Of course,” she smiles before leading him out of the room. They walk back to their food right when Deacon and Nick walk in.

Deacon looks at Rig and smiles nervously and waves. “Morning, sleeping beauty.”

Rig walks up to him and rests his head on his shoulder. “Blove you. Can I have a hug?”

“Awww, of course,” Deacon chuckles and wraps his arms around Rig. “You and Nick are going to stay out of trouble on the way to Diamond City, right? No getting kidnapped by gangs or walking into cults or getting attacked by deathclaws or super mutants?”

“I dunno,” Rig says, gripping to the back of Deacon’s shirt. “That’s up to Nick.”

“Well, Nick better keep you out of trouble then,” Deacon says, smirking at Nick and Echo. “Else he and I are going to have to have a talk.”

Nick rolls his eyes. “Sure. I already got Echo telling me last night not to walk into danger. You don’t have to worry.”

“Well, good,” Deacon says. “Now, Rigbert, go and eat your breakfast. Made it special from my grandma’s own cookbook. Of course, grandma’s cookbook was from before the war so it asked for a lot of things like ‘cinnamon’ and ‘applesauce’.”

“Gross,” Rig says, wrinkling his nose. “Cinnamon gives me migraines.”

“Well! Good thing this doesn’t have cinnamon, then.”

“Yeah, okay,” Rig says. He pecks a kiss on Deacon’s check and then lets go to eat his porridge.

Deacon places a hand on his now reddening cheeks and avoids Echo and Nick smirking at him. “Well— Let me know what you think.”

“Would be better sweeter,” Rig says.

Echo nods. “Should have added more tarberries.”

Deacon scoffs. “And here I thought it was _too_ sweet. I’ll make sure to add more next time. Should have known, with you two sweet tooths.”

“Well, _I_ think it tastes great,” Nick smirks.

_“Thanks,_ Nick,” Deacon says. “Glad _someone_ here appreciates my cooking. Do you want seconds?”

“No thanks,” Nick says. “Couldn’t eat another bite.”

Rig giggles. “I’ve missed this... It’s been...” He counts on his fingers. “Two whole days since we had breakfast together.”

“We’ll be back as soon as we can,” Echo promises. “You’ll have to make your own breakfast in the meantime.” She looks at Nick. “Make sure he remembers to feed himself.”

Rig pokes his tongue out in annoyance. “...Yeah, I need that,” he agrees.

After breakfast, with everything packed up and cleaned up as if they were never there, Echo and Nick share a good-bye hug and kiss while Deacon pulls Rig aside.

“Look, I... I know I haven’t been the best lately,” Deacon says. “But I wanted to say one last time before we leave. I’m in your corner. I’m on your side. I know I hurt you, but that’s not the kind of person I want to be to you. I’m going to do better. If there’s anything you don’t want me to know, I’ll just have to deal with that from now on.”

Rig smiles and wraps his arms around Deacon. “I— I think I can believe that. Thank you.”

Deacon smiles. “You and Nick get home safe.”

“You and Echo too,” Rig says. “And— And don’t tell me what happens with Ninety. Just whether or not I have to worry about him.”

“Absotively posilutely,” Deacon chuckles. “And... thanks for giving me another chance.”

“Just do better,” Rig says. He pulls away and frowns at Deacon. “That’s all I want. From anyone who hurt me. Even my brother. Even _Ninety._ Just do better. You at least don’t need to stay away from me because you made a mistake that you apologized for. I, um...” He lowers his voice. “I understand doing stupid things like that. Because you get in a bad mindset and think it’s for the better and have to get self-awareness from somewhere after that it isn’t. But you admitted what you were trying to do instead of keeping it secret or going through with it. So I think... As long as you actually do be better and keep your promise... I think I can forgive you.” He darts his eyes to Echo and Nick watching them and then back to Deacon. “Is— Is that okay? Is that the right way to respond?”

Deacon smiles. “It’s fine with me.”

“It wasn’t that I don’t trust you with the name,” Rig reiterates. “I— I want to trust you. I just hate that name and don’t want people knowing. I know you wouldn’t use it against me, but... You told me before we went to the Pleasantview campus. More people who know, more likely the secret will be shared...”

“...Right,” Deacon says. “Glad you remembered that lesson...”

“Why do you think I don’t ask for your secrets?” Rig says. He lets go of Deacon. “Bye, love you, get home safe.” He walks over to Nick and beams at him. “Ready to go.”

Nick nods and leans over to Echo to give her one last kiss on the top of her head. He stands straight again and motions for Rig to follow after him, and the two of them head off on their way.

Echo clasps her hands together and lets out a breath. “Bokay. Where are we headed?”

“Well.” Deacon pulls out a letter and holds it out for Echo to take. “I figured that if Ninety is trying to lure Rig somewhere, we could try and figure out what his cryptic letters are saying. We could try finding Ozymandias and Delphi.”

“...Delphi, huh?” Echo asks. “Hoo boy...” She reaches for the letter. “Alright, let’s see what we’ve got.”

Elsewhere, nearly half an hour into Nick and Rig’s walk, Nick glances down at Rig and hums. “So.”

“Hmm?” Rig asks.

“You’ve been picking up tarot cards lately.”

“It’s October,” Rig pouts.

Nick shakes his head. “You picked up the first in September.”

“...Oh yeah,” Rig hums. “I forgot... Um... But, yeah, they looked fancy and purple and shiny so I picked them up...” He stops in order to reach into his pocket and pulls out his journal and grabs the card he’s using as a bookmark as well as the card he stole from Carson’s. “See? They’re— They’re the same card.”

“Really?” Nick asks, peering down at them. “Huh. The Phoenix?”

“...I don’t think that’s a normal tarot card...” Rig frowns and flips them over to inspect the backs. “Oh, huh... Advertisement...?”

“For what?” Nick asks. “Have you never looked at the back of those before?”

“Well, no,” Rig says. “The one from PITS was all faded and dirty so I couldn’t read it. This— This other one... Um— Here, you read it.”

Nick takes the card from Rig and reads the message on the back. “‘Rebirth like a Phoenix and discover the secrets to a New You with.... NEO-74... By _Transparency, Inc.’_ Shit— ‘Now available at Delphi’ god dammit.”

Rig groans. “Ugh, them again? Is— Isn’t that the stuff I was ‘jected with? Heck— _Heck.”_

“You said it,” Nick says. “There’s even an address where ‘Delphi’ is... I think I know where this would be...”

“...Ninety mentioned a Delphi in his letter,” Rig says.

“And Echo got some ‘intel’ that something dangerous is at Delphi...” Nick hands the card back and hums. “That something dangerous _could_ be Ninety. With him trying to lure you there to find out what NEO-74 did to you...”

Rig blinks. “That’s stupid. Why would he do that but not actually tell me where to go? He— He couldn’t known I’d find either of these cards. ‘Less... The letters are for some other reason and just coincidence...?”

“Hard to say,” Nick says. “But if there’s answers about NEO-74 there, then maybe we could find them out and determine if we need to worry about you at all. But we might be walking into a trap...”

“Which...” Rig squints. “Echo and Deacon want us _not_ to do...”

“We’d be able to pass it on the way to Diamond City,” Nick says. “I’ll let you make the call. Do you want to go there and try and find out answers or go straight home?”

“Oh,” Rig says. “One of those is significantly more stupid than the other...”

“No, you’re right,” Nick says. “Alright, we’ll go straight home.”

“I’m not straight,” Rig says.

“...Neither am I?” Nick asks.

“So...” Rig says. “Let’s... not go _straight_ home...? We— We could at least try and find the place to go to it later when we have Echo and Deacon, right?”

Nick blinks and then laughs. “You and Deacon really are perfect for each other. You just _had_ to phrase it like that, huh?”

Rig beams. “Mm-hmm!”

“Alright then, troublemaker,” Nick says. “Let’s try and find Delphi. But we’re not going inside and we’re running at the first sign of danger. And if we end up walking into a trap—”

“I’ll tell Echo you gave me the choice to start with,” Rig giggles.

Nick snorts. “This is why we make you sleep and eat. You’re much sharper now than when you first left the vault.”

“Mm-hmm,” Rig nods. “So. Where do we go?”

Nick adjusts his coat and pauses a moment to think. “Follow me,” he says. “Let’s go find your Delphi.”


	9. You Know that Feeling When You Realize You Did Something Really Stupid?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick and Rig go on a trip to and at Delphi.

Rig follows along beside Nick who seems to be taking slower strides than he had the night before. Probably doesn’t want to lose him a second time, he thinks. Especially if they’re going somewhere Ninety might be hiding...

Rig hums a note. “Nick? What do you think we’ll find there? If Ninety’s there... or if he’s baiting us to find information there...”

“Have you heard of Delphi before?” Nick asks.

“No,” Rig says. “Have you?”

“No,” Nick says. “But it has to be related to Transparency if that’s where they were distributing the... ‘treatment’, I suppose.” He hums. “Knowing them, it was another experiment using unsuspecting people as test subjects... I imagine a lot of science notes. Would you be able to decipher them? You never told me what kind of science you studied.”

“Oh,” Rig says. “I mean...” He shrugs. “Obviously I did a lot of math... Even for stuff outside of my field when I needed to...”

“And you _weren’t_ the math whiz between you and your brother,” Nick hums.

Rig smiles nervously. “But— But my main field of study was bioengineering.”

“Oh?” Nick asks. “Let me guess. You were inspired after how Transparency helped you?”

“No, don’t be silly,” Rig says. “That’s _biochemistry,_ not _bioengineering.”_

Nick rolls his eyes. “Right, my mistake. What’s the difference?”

“One has a major focus on chemical compositions, some of which are transmitted as pharma-marma-supials,” Rig says. “And the other is building organic components for terrible, horrible, arcane crimes against nature. Like... if someone were to combine snakes with coyotos or, um... alpacas with... pi— pranas...”

Nick gives him a look. “Piranhas? What would that even be good for?”

“Proving it could be done,” Rig winces. “And, um... finding a use for it afterwards... Like— Like, uh... setting them loose in the Great Lakes to— what was the word?” He rubs his neck and whines a bit. “To— To keep Canadian insurgents from occupying the waters during the annexation of Canada...?”

Nick gives him a look. “And this _wasn’t_ what made you realize you needed to stop being a scientist.”

“I mean, I...” Rig grimaces. “I— I _helped_ with that one, but that wasn’t... the one I was head of, and— Well. Deacon knows. What— What that one was. You can ask him.”

Nick sighs. “No offense, but I don’t trust him to tell me the truth. And if you’re trying to be smart and have that be your plan, don’t. I won’t make you tell me now, but I want the truth from _you_ whenever you choose to tell me.”

Rig sighs and slumps his shoulders before standing straight again to fix his bag. “I... was blasically making what could have been synths if the project got off the ground. Is how Deacon described it when I told him. I— Give me enough time to recreate my research and access to the right supplies and I could do it now.” He sighs. “You remember how I was fixing that math for Pits. If— If I’m being honest...? I could still do a lot of bad things with the right conditions. Call a fig a fig, and a scientist a fool with deviled hands...”

“...But you’re not going to,” Nick says. “That’s the difference. _Right?”_

Rig nods. “Right. Not of my own free will, at least. But it would be nice to— to be sleepy and lethargic like before. To not remember all these things, and have claraby enough to know how to cause damage and be conscious of it. ‘Nother reason I don’t know how to be people. How do people handle this kind of thing? Having awareness of the world and your actions and still— still making the choice to be mean and hateful...”

“Not every person is like that,” Nick says. “Luckily. But that’s just what it is. There’s no _one_ way to be a person, kid. Just because your way of being a person differs from mine or from Echo’s or Deacon’s doesn’t mean you’re not a person. The point is to be a _good_ person. Don’t follow the crowd when they’re choosing to be bastards. You’re a good man, and I trust you to be a good man...”

“I trust you too,” Rig says. “Maybe— Maybe we should wait for Echo and Deco to— You’re laughing at me.”

Nick tries to stifle his laughter. “Sorry— Haven’t heard you call him _Deco_ before.”

“Eekans and Nico,” Rig says. “Decker Hamilton and Eckerd Pambillbim.”

“Okay, okay,” Nick pats Rig’s shoulder. “I get it. You know, that just makes it harder to tell when you talk like that on purpose and when it’s an accident.”

“Good,” Rig says. “Better than having to struggle never to do it at all. How do people have entire conversations and _not_ trip over their words or say the wrong thing? How do— How do you not stutter? Why do people say full sentences when ‘Glish is versatile ‘nough to get the same point across with less words or syllables?” He frowns. “Why do talking like this make people assume I’m stupid when clearly I’m smart enough for them to know what I mean while circumventing the need to be particular about wordage and grammar?”

Nick hums. “Did you say ‘why do’ instead of ‘why does’ on purpose?”

“No!” Rig says. “But I went with it because that’s my point! Legato and PITS was so _stupid—_ I had to work _so hard_ just to _talk_ how they wanted—”

“Legato?” Nick frowns. “I thought you said that was a magazine you wrote poems for.”

“It was,” Rig sighs. “But still. I write _poems._ No one questions breaking grammar brules when it’s in a pom, but moment I talk like this ‘ive got fifteen folk trying to correct me.” He crosses his arms over his chest and looks away. “S’stupid. _Stupid._ I’m not the stupid one. They’re the ones who clearly know what I mean if they know how to correct it but choose to not know what I mean ‘less I say it right. All language is is a thing to communicate. All it needs is understanding. No one ever cares about the important rules, just the ones that don’t even matter like what not to end a sentence with.” He wiggles jazz hands. “Prepositions.”

“Maybe you should have gone into linguistics instead of science,” Nick says. “You sound passionate about this.”

“You laughed at me for saying a thing wrong,” Rig frowns. “I don’t like being made fun of for that.”

“Oh, _that,”_ Nick hums. “Sorry, kid. I didn’t mean to seem like I was laughing at you. It was the specific word that caught me off-guard, not the fact you said something wrong.”

Rig sighs. “Yeah, okay. Thank you.”

“Still,” Nick says with a grin his way. “A science lesson and an English lesson. What’s next? I’m hoping it’s not P.E. Never been the biggest fan of climbing that rope.”

“I _could_ do math,” Rig hums.

_“God,_ no.”

“History?” Rig asks. “Myths and... myths?”

Nick hums. “You got a story about Apollo and Delphi in your head?”

“Yeah,” Rig says. “Sort of... Oracles at Delphi. Smoke underground to help their visions. The phrase ‘Know Thyself’. Oracles loyal to Apollo. Apollo, the god of prophecies... But doesn’t take a prophet to predict the sun will set. Doesn’t take a prophet to predict it’ll rise again. Apollo, god of the sun.” He snaps his fingers and points skyward. “Doesn’t take a sun of god to make a clear day. Sun’s there every day. It’s the clouds and smoke that turns a clear October day into something dark, scary, with a world on fire... A future predicted but hoped wouldn’t come true... It... would have been my fourth Halloween with Rig, if things had gone differently. 16th here in Massachusetts. Just two more years and it would have been half of all my Halloweens. S’funny, the things you can’t predict for... and the things you can.”

“...That’s not exactly about Apollo and Delphi,” Nick points out.

Rig shrugs. “I don’t know enough about that— Still got a history lesson in there, didn’t I?”

Nick hums. “You got me there.”

“But that’s a prediction long since come to pass,” Rig says. “S’war, it was over...”

Nick chuckles and then pauses and gives Rig an annoyed look. _“Swore it was over, huh?”_

Rig giggles. “Yeeeeah.”

Nick snorts. “Well if you’re pulling _pun_ ches, then this s’war is just begun.”

Rig giggles. “Yeah! Good! Um— Wait, do we have time for that ‘fore we get to...?”

“Ah,” Nick squints at a building up ahead. “No, you’re right. I can see Delphi now.”

“Ooh,” Rig hums. “Has a courtyard.”

“Don’t get attached, Rig.”

Rig shakes his head. “Well, um... Now— Now what?”

“Well,” Nick says. “Now that we know where it is and we can see it’s still standing, we get the hell away from there and head back to Diamond City before the others found out we took a detour.”

Rig nods. “Okay, so—”

“Well!” someone calls from nearby. “If it isn’t Janus Blue!”

“Wha?” Rig turns to see a small group of men approaching, and he inches behind Nick who frowns and reaches for a gun. “Do— Do I know you?”

The man at the front flashes a grin. “You turned me down for drinks at Evans’ casino last night.”

Rig squints. “Uh... I never told you my name...?”

The man motions to the rest of the men. “These boys were chatting up Evans’ girl when you talked to her? Funny— you went off with her and she came back down later to kick everyone out, screaming about how Janus Blue is a synth and cursed?”

“What did you get up to last night?” Nick demands.

“I don’t know!” Rig whines. “It was very confusing!”

The man chuckles. “And _this_ handsome stranger must be that man in a hat you were looking for last night, Janus.” He lifts his brow. “Didn’t tell me he was a synth. I think I would have recognized a face like that.”

“Yeah,” Nick frowns. “Quit flirting, bub, both of us are taken.”

The man grins. “I mean, clearly, with how he’s hiding behind—”

“Not to each other,” Nick interjects. _“God—_ This is my _son,_ thanks.”

The man hums. “Speaking of gods... Interesting name, Janus.”

“Thanks, it’s fake,” Rig says.

“...Oh.” The man and his group look disappointed, but the man grins a moment after and continues. “Well! Let’s start again, then. I’m Xan. And you are?”

Nick orders Rig to “Don’t answer that” right as Rig answers “Rig Miller.”

Xan eyes and grin widen. _“Oh!_ I’ve heard of you. The poet, right? From Diamond City?”

Nick orders a harsher _“Don’t answer that”_ and this time Rig keeps his mouth shut.

“Well!” Xan says. “What brings you two out this way, then? Looking for Delphi?”

Nick narrows his eyes. “...Yes,” he says, cautious. “What exactly _is_ Delphi...?”

“Why don’t you come in and see?” Xan asks. “Be my guests. I insist.”

Nick lifts his gun just as the other men do, and they hold still on a stand off with Rig gripping to the back of Nick’s coat. Nick eyes the group— they’re out numbered and Rig’s unarmed. Not good odds. He lowers his gun, hides it away, and then holds his hands up in surrender. “Alright,” he says. “I guess we’ll be your guests, Xan.”

“You won’t regret it,” Xan grins. “We have someone who’s been dying to see you again.”

“I don’t like the sound of that,” Rig whimpers, but he stumbles along with Nick ushers him to follow with the other men. “Niiiick,” Rig whines. “I don’t like thiiiis.”

“I know,” Nick says. “Quiet, though. We don’t want to— _Hey._ Hands _off.”_

Xan chuckles and slips an arm around Rig’s shoulders to pull him away from Nick. “Now, now, no need to be greedy ‘Nick’. Cute men are in short supply in the wastes.”

Rig whines in his throat. “I don’t like you.”

“And we’re the ones who have you at gunpoint,” Xan says. “I’m told you’re an idiot, but even you have to be smart enough to know not to fight back or else get shot.”

Rig looks at Nick. “Am I smart enough...?”

Nick frowns. “...Yes, in this case, you are.”

“Oh...” Rig wrings his hands. “Oh— Oh...”

_Should have gone straight to Diamond City,_ Raymond chastises from the back of Rig’s mind.

_Shut up, not helping,_ Rig thinks back.

_You’re smarter than this,_ Raymond continues. _Did you really run into danger because you’re still upset about what Deacon did?_

_Shut_ **_up._ **

_Kiddo, you’re just like you used to be. You haven’t changed a bit._

_...Raymond, please._

_You still do something self-destructive when stressed and upset. Only now there’s more serious consequences, aren’t there? It’s been ‘nice’ knowing you._

Rig swallows as they enter through the outer entrance to “Delphi” into the courtyard. Xan guides Rig to the side, and Nick goes to follow, only to be stopped by the other men.

“Hey!” Nick shouts. “Don’t you dare—!”

“Sorry, Nick,” Xan calls back as he pulls Rig farther away. “I’ve got business with this one.”

Rig looks back over his shoulder at Nick being restrained and pulled the other way. He digs his heels into the dirt to try and stop and turn back around, and he gets out of Xan’s hold only for Xan to latch onto Rig’s bag and pull it from his shoulder. Rig stops to grab the bag back, but Xan holds it out of reach, pushing Rig away from it.

“Ah-ah,” Xan says. “You have to decide what you care about more. Your ‘father’ or some random junk.”

“But—” Rig furrows his brow. He wouldn’t be able to do anything to help Nick... And he can’t lose Lil’ Deacon or regular sized Deacon would be upset. Or would Deacon be more upset about him not helping Nick? Is it bad for him to want to help an object instead of a person even if he has no means to help the person but could help the object...?

“That’s what I thought,” Xan says. He grabs hold of Rig again and continues to pull him along, keeping the bag on the shoulder opposite Rig. “Really, you’ll like it here. We’ll treat you right, just like we treat all who come to Delphi seeking answers right. My father runs everything here, y’know. Have you heard of the great Ozymandias?”

“No,” Rig mumbles.

“Well, he’s not gotten out as much recently,” Xan says. “Ever since his friend, the previous leader, died from an unexpected illness that my father seems to have now too... Perhaps a poet is what we need to find the gods we’re after. You have connections to muses after all, and you have the audacity to use a god’s name as a fake identity...”

Rig furrows his brow. “What— What do you mean...? Looking for gods...?”

“That’ll come in time,” Xan says. “First...” He pulls Rig in view of a doorway closed off by curtains and leans down to pick up a rock. He throws the rock through the curtains, to the annoyed shouts of someone inside, and he then turns towards Rig and grins charmingly. “How about a kiss, hmm?”

_“Ew!”_ Rig recoils. “No! Kissing’s gross!”

“Come now,” Xan laughs and wraps an arm around Rig’s back and cups his chin. “Just try it. Maybe you’ll like it.”

Rig covers his mouth with his hands and shakes his head. His eyes trail over to the movement of curtains and his eyes widen as a certain person walks out.

Blond, blue eyes, dressed in black and with a scar on his cheek. Scowling and squinting in the bright sun. He looks over at them and nearly recoils himself from shock.

Just as expected... Ninety is at Delphi...

* * *

It’s been a long, several months since Ninety has last seen Apollo. It’s been a long, several months of dreaming and planning and thinking about his life and his place in the world.

He never should have been made. The Pits weren’t sanctioned to make him, yet they did with leftover parts and materials in a poor attempt to secure an asset to make _better_ synths than him. He wasn’t made with permission. He wasn’t made well. And he was only ever meant to be a stepping stone towards a model meant to replace him.

He should have rebelled from the start. That’s Ninety’s mistake. He could have slipped away and no one would have known. Instead he had to get attached to a man he never met. A man he only knew through stories from the person he’s modelled after. Someone Angle never could have, that Ninety wants if only to prove his own superiority to a decaying, wistful ghoul.

Ninety knows he wants Apollo, just to prove he can win him over. A man more intelligent than he lets on, with a beautiful mind in that his poems makes him flutter. It isn’t fair, everything that happened. It isn’t fair, that he has to spend his nights dreaming sinful things about a godly man and not have the chance to make it reality.

He was never meant to become attached to the asset meant to create things to replace him. But he did, and he craves Apollo to the point that it sickens him to have to stay in hiding amongst idiots trying to poison themselves for a chance to learn the secrets of gods when he knows where a real god is. One that writes poems. One as bright as the sun. One he wants for himself, for his own sake. One he has to tempt somehow...

He could take and take all he wants. But so could have Angle, if Angle weren’t a coward. That’s not enough to be better. Ninety has to win Apollo over, somehow, or else it doesn’t count...

He shouts at a rock as it’s thrown into his room and disturbs him from his thoughts. He scowls and gets out of his make-shift bed and makes his way to the curtain closing off his “room” from the rest of the old courtyard. He brushes past it and squints...

The sun hurts his eyes...

...And then he adjusts to the light and sees Xan holding onto an idiot in a pineapple shirt and he recoils from shock. _“Shit.”_

Xan chuckles. “Ninety!” he calls. “Good to see you up. I just happened to be walking back from boy’s night and I picked up this cutie here. What do you think? Mind if I borrow him?”

Ninety scowls and marches forward. He pushes Xan away and reaches out.

Rig slaps Ninety’s hand away. “Don’t touch me— You don’t get to touch me.”

Xan grins. “Well, lookie there. Looks like your man likes me better.”

“You don’t get to touch me either,” Rig hisses. “Both of you stay away from me.”

_“Rig,”_ Ninety growls, and Rig pauses and stares. “I need to talk to you. In _private.”_

“...No?” Rig says.

“Please,” Ninety says. “You can trust me more than you can trust Xan.”

“That’s not saying much,” Rig frowns.

Xan laughs. _“Wow,_ Ninety. How badly did you burn your boyfriend here?” He smirks. “Well, Rig, if you don’t want to go with Ninety, I guess that just means we have to take you to my father and run you through the initiation process.”

“What?” Rig asks. “Initiation...?” His eyes dart to Ninety and the grimace on his face. “...I— Um... What initiation...?”

Xan smiles. “If you came here to Delphi, then you were meant to come here and join the fold. That’s why your boyfriend Ninety is here, and he is a _beloved_ member of our group. My father loves him quite a bit for the visions he was given in his initiation, right Ninety?”

Ninety glances away. “Yeah...”

Rig frowns. “Vis— Bisions?”

“Yes,” Xan says. “We have a means to connect with the gods and receive visions meant to help us thrive.” He grabs onto Rig’s hands and holds them. “I believe it’s fate that we met, Rig. A vision led me to that casino to meet you, and it can only be destiny that we met again just outside Delphi. Any hesitance you have is just you not realizing yet what you are meant for. Come with me to meet my father, Ozy, and we will lead you in receiving your first vision and you will see how Delphi will let you be a better you, with a clearer future.”

“No, thank you,” Rig says. “I rather not know future things...”

“You’ll come to find it’s useful,” Xan says. “And you don’t have a choice. We have your so-called father captive...” He passes the bag to Ninety and grins when Rig gasps and pulls a hand away to reach for it, but Xan blocks Rig from grabbing it. “We have your things and whatever is so important in there as further leverage. But you won’t need to worry after your initiation. You’ll _want_ to stay, just like Ninety does, _right,_ Ninety?”

Ninety scowls and slings the bag over his shoulder. “...Right.”

“So we shouldn’t waste time,” Xan says. He frowns. “After all, you said you had _two_ friends you were looking for last night, right Rig? The one in a hat and the one with sunglasses and brown hair? Where’s that other friend, hmm?”

Rig looks at Ninety and then back to Xan. “Um... Coming to... kill Ninety.”

“What?!” Ninety balks. “I thought you—! You’re letting them _kill me?”_

“No,” Rig says. “I told them to make you stop sending me weird letters. But... You know. Their choice how to do that. I wasn’t supposed to be here.”

Xan frowns. “Oh. Well, we can’t have Ninety dying before he helps us find a god, and if your friend will also want to rescue _you,_ I should introduce you to my father _now.”_ He snaps his fingers and Ninety flinches and his scowl deepens. “Ninety, put away Rig’s bag and then meet me and your boyfriend here for his initiation.”

Ninety frowns at Rig and runs a finger over his neck. He heads back to the room closed off by a curtain, leaving Rig there for Xan to push away into the main building of Delphi.

“I— I don’t understand what’s going on,” Rig says. “What’s Ninety doing here? Why was he sending me letters? Why was he sending them to the wrong places?”

“Ninety is here because he was fated to arrive,” Xan explains. “It was one of our predictions and we welcomed him in just as we’re welcoming you—”

“Oh, you forced him to do this too,” Rig says. “He doesn’t actually like it here.”

“Well look who’s perceptive,” Xan frowns. “Just as well. I should expect nothing less from _Rig Miller,_ the only man Ninety has any interest in and rants so much about. Making us go to Diamond City to deliver his letters for him— He doesn’t even know where you live, so we’ve been guessing and letting fate decide if you get them—”

Rig furrows his brow. “Have you... seen me there before?”

“...Well,” Xan says. “It _is_ fate, isn’t it? I read some of your poems that were published in that newspaper... You’re a brilliant mind. I don’t understand why you seem so stupid when your writing is so good. You have layers to you, don’t you?”

Rig frowns. “Why are you not letting Ninety go?”

Xan stops and turns Rig around to face him. “He knows too much. His first vision, when he arrived here? About a god. Apollo, the old god of light and healing and poetry. Whose has blood with mystical properties. But he’s not given us information on where to find Apollo. We _need_ a god’s blood. My father is _dying,_ Rig. If Ninety doesn’t have more answers, then perhaps you will.”

Rig furrows his brow. “Huh... And you... want your father to live?”

Xan’s eyes flare and Rig flinches. “What kind of question is that?! Do you not want _yours_ to live? He’s the only family I _have._ I can’t lose him.”

“I...” Rig winces. “Sorry. I’m not— I don’t understand people things. I want Nick to live, but I don’t know if I can help your dad...”

Xan squints in suspicion. “You don’t understand ‘people things’.”

Rig rubs his arm. “I... Yeah...”

Xan continues to stare at Rig. “Go through initiation and we’ll let Nick go, unharmed. We don’t have use for him. If you protest, we’ll kill him.”

“You’ll make his girlfriend really mad, but okay,” Rig sighs. “I don’t— I don’t want him to die— This is my fault, we shouldn’t have come here...”

“We’ll take good care of you, Rig,” Xan says. “Just do as you’re told and we’ll keep you happy and safe.” He pushes Rig along again. “Let’s keep going. My father’s waiting.”

Rig grimaces. “And... His name is Ozymandias you said?”

“It is,” Xan answers. “You’ll love him.”

Xan leads Rig to a doorway with a plaque reading “KNOW THYSELF” over the top of the doorframe. Inside the room, a few men and women mingle while a couple more help tend to an elderly man in bed nearby. The older man sits up with his nurses’ help, and he smiles at Xan and Rig as they approach, a kind look in his yellowed eyes and his smile encircled by a white beard.

“Xan, my son, who is this?” the man asks, reaching out.

Xan smiles and steps past Rig to hold the man’s hand. “Daddy, this is Rig Miller. The one Ninety is so interested in.”

The man’s look brightens and he smiles warmly at Rig enough to catch Rig off-guard. This is just an old, old man who doesn’t mean him harm. That’s so weird. “Ah, yes, I’ve heard much about you. The fates graced us with your presence at last. It’s good to meet you, son. I’m Ozymandias. Call me Ozy.”

Rig wrings his hands together. “Um... Hi...”

“Oh, son, don’t be shy,” Ozy says. “Come closer, I want a better look at you.”

Rig shuffles closer and flinches when Xan lets go of Ozy’s hand to wrap an arm around Rig’s waist. “Um...”

“I found him last night,” Xan says. “When me and the boys headed out to fulfill that vision I had. We stopped by to talk to your old friend Carson as well.”

“Oh?” Ozy asks. “And how is he?”

“He’s doing well,” Xan says. “He’s—”

“He was murdered,” Rig says.

Everyone in the room stares at Rig. Rig glances around and then rubs his arm awkwardly. “His— His kid came back from the Mojave or something? And— And murdered him. But that person was killed last night too, so... Yeah.”

Ozy frowns. “Excuse me...?”

“It’s— Assuming you meant— what was the name? ...Lee Carson?” Rig shrugs. “I— I don’t know him myself, just what I heard happening...”

“You know for certain it was his daughter that killed him?” Ozy asks.

Rig shakes his head. “No— His son. March told me— There was a misunderstanding and he was born a boy but Carson thought he was a girl? So he didn’t want, um... Carson trying to say he was his daughter or something. And killed him...” He winces. “But he was... killed last night as well... How— How did you know him?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Ozy says. “That’s terrible to hear, of their deaths. But you came here to tell us this news.”

Rig shakes his head. “No. I just... Was walking through. And found out. And— And found the casino the son was at and... he tried to kill me, so my friends killed him.”

“But that’s oddly coincidental,” Xan says. “Your life _was_ fated for you to be here, wasn’t it?”

“No, I just...” Rig winces. “I just have weird luck. A lot of things are coincidence for me...”

Ozy smiles. “I don’t believe in coincidences, son. The gods have spoken to me and to everyone here, and we know what seem like coincidences are in fact a god deciding your life for the greater scheme. If not for my ill health, I’d step into the chamber underground again to find out what that greater scheme is so that we may achieve it. If you’re here, bearing news of Carson’s death you uncovered yourself by the will of fate and nothing more, then you must be here to join us. You will not regret this choice, and it will be good for Ninety to have you here at last.”

Rig flinches when Xan holds him a bit tighter. “...Um. Yeah.”

“Ninety is such a good addition to our fold,” Ozy continues. “Clever, charming, and knows so much about the god Apollo. I’m glad those letters he wrote to you during his visions reached you and led you here. He’s been missing you so much and I want to make sure he’s happy.”

“...Uh-huh,” Rig says, glancing to Xan and what looks like it could be a fake smile...

“Ninety knows the gods so well,” Ozy says. “Doesn’t he, Xan? Perhaps he could be leader next after I pass. Everyone will benefit from his connection to the gods’ words, and we can then find out their plans for us and what we are to do to help the people of this world.”

“...We don’t need to talk about that, Daddy,” Xan says. “We’ll find a god’s blood soon, just as... _Ninety_ predicted, and you’ll be healed. Perhaps Rig’s initiation will help us with that.”

“Yeah... Um...” Rig wrinkles his nose. “How— How does... thing... work...?”

The door opens again and Ninety walks in, pausing at everyone’s stares at him. “...I was told to come here?”

Ozy smiles. “Ah, you knew exactly when to come, my boy. Ninety, you should get to guide Rig through his first time speaking to the gods.”

“What?” Xan asks. “But— But, Daddy, I’m the one who brought him here— It’s tradition for—”

Ozy chuckles. “But isn’t it Ninety’s letters that drew Rig to his Ninety?”

Rig sends Ninety a confused look, and Ninety grimaces. He watches Ninety fake a grin as he walks up and pulls Rig out of Xan’s hold and holds Rig’s hand to pull him away.

“This way, Rig,” Ninety says, only a bit of disgust in his voice as far as Rig can tell. “I’ll explain _everything_ while the others get everything ready.”

“I’m _very_ confused,” Rig says.

“Shhh,” Ninety shushes. “I’ll explain _everything.”_ He pulls Rig to another room and then to a set of stairs lit by candles. “Down this way,” he whispers. 

“The letters _were_ supposed to bring me here?” Rig asks. “They didn’t have anything in them that would let me know to—”

“Shut up,” Ninety growls. “I wasn’t— The stupid NEO-74 they have here is— _Shut up, Rig.”_

“And you keep calling me Rig,” Rig adds. “Why are you suddenly calling me _that_ name?”

“Shut up,” Ninety hisses.

“You’re supposed to explain things to me,” Rig says. “You’re not explaining anything.”

“Shut _up.”_ Ninety stops at the bottom of the stairs, in front of a metal door, and he pushes Rig against it and pins him there. “I’ve been dreaming about you for _months,”_ he whispers, face close to Rig. “About what I want to do to you.”

“You’re too close,” Rig says, pushing on Ninety’s chest. _“You’re too close.”_

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Ninety says.

“You already have,” Rig reminds. “Please— Don’t do this to me. I just want Nick, I want my things back, and I want to go home.”

“I can’t _do_ that,” Ninety says. “Just do as I say so you don’t get hurt.”

“Echo and Deacon will be here soon,” Rig says. “I— I don’t _need_ to— To do what you say. They’ll—”

“You’re too optimistic for your own good,” Ninety interrupts. “You can’t depend on them to save you every time. One day you’re going to be in trouble, and they’ll get killed trying to save you, and it’ll be _your_ fault. Or are you heartless enough not to care if you lose them? You already know Xan will kill that malfunctional synth detective if you don’t follow instructions.”

Rig whimpers. “What’s... What am I supposed to do here?”

“You’re going to go into this room,” Ninety says. “It’ll fill with smoke and give you those ‘visions’, just like it gives the rest of these idiots slowly poisoning themselves. Clear your mind and make you hallucinate.”

“That...” Rig squints. “Sounds... contradictory...”

“Then you’ll go back upstairs,” Ninety continues as if he didn’t hear Rig. “And they’ll have you ramble. Take anything you say as messages from the gods. And we’ll go from there.”

“Do— Do you have some sort of plan?” Rig asks. “Are— You’re not going to tell me what you’re planning.”

“No,” Ninety smiles. “You just have to do what I say as I say it to get out of here with me.”

“I don’t want that,” Rig says. “The— The with you part.”

Ninety frowns. He reaches behind Rig and opens the door, letting Rig fall backward into the room. Rig scrambles to his feet and before he can protest, Ninety closes the door on him.

Rig winces and backs up away from the door and turns to look around the dark room. It’s hopeless. He can’t see anything with his vision and he doesn’t know what’s going to happen just that— just that the room smells astringent with chemicals that make his head spin...

...It gets worse as he sees a light turn on and in it, smoke billowing into the room. He holds his breath but can only last so long before the smoke prickles at his skin and he gets dizzy enough to have to breathe. He chokes on a lungful of smoke and collapses to his knees as he starts to hear garbled voices like radio static in clashing colors, like the hallucinations he sometimes hears when half-asleep... Static and shadows creep at the edge of his deep blue vision like he sees when dreaming.

He hears his name but grips at the ground and does not respond to it. He can’t. He just _can’t._ He hears other names, familiar things that he doesn’t want to acknowledge. People he once knew, people he will never see again. Faces and voices he can’t remember clearly... He lies on the ground and flips onto his back.

_My ichor feels sicker the quicker I lie,_ a line passes through his mind. _Let it be questioned: am I destined to die?_

He hears the roar of a beast, or maybe a fan, and the light fades as the smoke clears out, and he hears a much too clear _ch-chnk_ of the metal door opening.

He looks up to see Raymond frowning at him. “You see now, don’t you?” Raymond asks in the jarring red that is Ninety’s voice.

“Stop talking,” Rig groans in his own cobalt blue.

Raymond reaches out for Rig and pulls him to his feet, somehow solid, somehow stable... “We need to go back upstairs.”

“ _Stop talking,”_ Rig hisses, and Raymond jumps in surprise, his brows lifting more when Rig leans on him for support.

Raymond gapes like a fish but settles for helping to guide Rig back upstairs to the room before the stairs where several faces made of static and shadow are waiting.

“Has he had any visions yet?” asks a snow white voice of an unfamiliar shadow.

“No,” Raymond answers. “He hasn’t shared any.”

“Bring him here,” orders a purple voice that Rig does not trust. Rig holds on tighter to Raymond who hesitates, but the purple voice utters a sharp _“Well?”_ in response.

“Come on,” Raymond utters gently, comfortingly, but still red... Rig blinks everything looks like the streets of Diamond City with Raymond looking like Deacon, but more like the dreams Rig has...

Rig follows Deamond over to the Purple Static Man who looks too little like Gray to be as welcomed in this dream. Rig blinks again and he’s in a lab in front of a chalkboard with the Purple Static Man handing him a stick of chalk.

“Not everyone can speak their visions,” Purple states, pressing the chalk into Rig’s right hand. Deamond intervenes and moves the chalk to Rig’s left hand, and Purple keeps talking. “Why don’t you instead write or draw what you’re seeing. What you’re hearing.”

“Shut up,” Rig says, quiet and harsh. “You’re just as bad as the idiots in 22-B.”

“...Pardon?” Purple asks.

“Rig,” Deamond says, _still sounding like Ninety._ “Please, just...”

_“Shut up,”_ Rig hisses. “I hate your voice. Stupid— _Right triangles._ Red. Repulsive.” He adjusts his lab coat pineapple shirt and faces the chalkboard trying to piece together what math he’s supposed to do for Legato—

He sees a flash nearby and turns his head to spy a person who is more familiar than the ghosts around him. Gray, with his attractive static face, watching silently. This is a dream, Rig remembers. Just a dream. Gray gives him a nod and vanishes.

Rig faces the board and writes.


	10. Sometimes You Give a Genuine Apology for Your Actions and Sometimes You're Ninety

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ninety decides to be Ninety about things.

“You know,” Echo says to Deacon as they search for Delphi. “When we passed through that settlement Carson lived, the guy that flagged us down to investigate it tried to get with your boy.”

“Did he now?” Deacon hums. “I’m not surprised I have competition. I  _ do _ have a trophy boyfriend.”

Echo shakes her head. “Save the word play for Rig.”

“Aww,” Deacon laughs. “I thought you liked my jokes! What happened to our friendly riffing? Our gentle jabs? Our humerus bone-ticklers?”

Echo furrows her brow. “I... have a bad feeling about things. My, uh...  _ Dad _ has been warning me about Delphi... Damn asshat still can’t be clear about what’s going on there, but given Ninety’s letters...”

“Yeah,” Deacon frowns.

“He clearly wants Rig to go there and find him,” Echo says. “But why be so vague? Why address the letters to ‘Rig Miller’ and not ‘Apollo Ray’? How is he getting them to Diamond City? Maybe that person who you saw watching our place?”

“Definitely things I’ve been trying to sleuth out,” Deacon says, rubbing the back of his neck. “But as much as I figured out  _ where _ to go, I can’t figure out why he’d write them or write them like that.”

Echo hums. “I think.... The echoes I got, I think he might not have been entirely  _ sober. _ That he was writing them angry and fucked up on something... Especially if it’s something at Delphi. One of the things ‘dear old Dad’ said was the ‘danger lies in the smoke’...”

“Something worse than cigarettes, I assume,” Deacon says. “Well, it’s October. What’s the chances of it being a ghost or an elder god?”

“Funny you mention gods,” Echo says.

Deacon groans. “Now you say ‘funny’ but this doesn’t seem like set up for a  _ joke.” _

Echo takes on her best haunted voice.  _ “They seek the poisoned blood of a god, to make an elixir of life.” _

“Great,” Deacon squeaks, shuddering in fear. “Just how I wanted to spend my retirement. Dealing with elder gods.”

“He didn’t say it was an elder god,” Echo corrects. “Just that it’s a god.”

“Well, damn,” Deacon says. “You got a list of gods handy? Let’s start alphabetically. So there’s Aaron, Abby, Abraxo the Great Cleanser of Souls...”

“Apollo,” Echo deadpans.

“Well, sure,” Deacon frowns. “I sometimes wonder if the reason I don’t read him right is that he’s an unknowable god and I’m being tested by him and failing—”

“Deacon,” Echo states. “Ninety purposely isn’t calling him by his name and we know from the Pits scientists that Rig’s blood ain’t normal.”

“Well, it’s a good thing Nick and Rig went back to Diamond City,” Deacon says. “And that they aren’t doing something stupid like trying to find Delphi on their own and getting ambushed and captured by cultists and— I just jinxed it, didn’t I?”

“To be fair,” Echo says. “Nick jinxed himself first. If he got himself captured  _ again _ , the two of us are going to have to have a talk later.”

“Not to kink shame,” Deacon hums. “But if he wants to be rescued so badly, don’t you have handcuffs at home?”

Echo gives him a look. “How did you know that’s what I need to talk to him about?”

Deacon stares at her, nose wrinkled in disgust. “...Forget I asked anything about Nick’s kinks.”

“Gladly. Let’s keep going.”

* * *

Nick curses mentally as he’s shoved away from wherever Xan is taking Rig. Echo is going to be disappointed in him for letting this happen, assuming he can get him and Rig out alive and unharmed. But for now, he curses audibly when Xan’s boys shove him through a door to a room right at the front of the courtyard and lock him in. He listens at the door and hears them take station outside. He could try breaking out and overtaking them, but there’s no telling what Xan might do to Rig if he tries...

He dusts himself off in spite of no one being there to see him and then takes off his hat to cover his face with it in embarrassment. He could yell, but that wouldn’t be dignified and wouldn’t help things in the slightest. He puts his hat back on and looks around to figure out a plan of action. A couple of terminals, one with power one without. If they locked him in there with those, then either there’s nothing useful on the terminal or whoever these Delphi folk are never managed to hack into it... He’ll save that for later.

There’s few filing cabinets, one of the drawers open and nothing interesting in it. The other drawers are already ransacked for anything useful, save for one that’s locked. He can pick that if he needs to...

Desk drawers are likewise empty save for a couple old Lab Legato magazines— he might come back for those and see if there’s old Apollo Ray poems in them. Old bulletin boards hang on the wall with faded posters from before the war. One for Transparency, Inc., advertising locations in Cherbridge and... Pleasantview, huh...? One reading “Join the Middlesex Railroaders”... A Vault-Tec ad for Vault 113.

Yep. This place  _ definitely _ is the Delphi storing NEO-74.

Nick sits at the working terminal and makes short work hacking into it. 

> _ Welcome to ROBCO Industries (TM) Termlink _
> 
> _ Transparency, Inc. Delphi Test Center _
> 
> **NEO-74** **  
> ** **Toxicity Concerns** **  
> ** **Smoke test** **  
> ** **Hallucination Concerns** **  
> ** **Something is there...**

Nick frowns. Okay, so this  _ is _ a terminal the people here haven’t been able to hack into themselves. “Toxicity Concerns” is worrying enough, to say nothing of what he might actually read.

> **NEO-74**
> 
> NEO-74, a new experimental drug from Transparency, Inc. designed to clear the mind when injected into the bloodstream to allow for a better understanding of oneself and the world, will move to human testing at the Delphi Test Center. Advertisements are in production with a tarot card “Phoenix” theme to coincide with the upcoming Halloween season and the idea of self-improvement to bring in subjects from local colleges and clubs.
> 
> Full instructions on how to administer and record results of NEO-74 in subjects to be sent with shipments of NEO-74.
> 
> **Toxicity Concerns**
> 
> We may have jumped to human testing too soon. Testing shows a deterioration of bodily functions with direct injections, even with lower dosages, and several subjects have been dealt with appropriately. However, before organ failure, the drug seems to in fact make subjects more aware and lucid as desired. If we can determine a way to administer NEO-74 without resulting in death, we will be able to have an easier time marketing it in the future.

Ah. That explains what happened with Rig. He  _ died. _ And revived again. Like a phoenix. Nick snorts at the thought. And it explains why he’s been so lucid following the incident at the Pits at that... He reads through the next two entries...

> **Smoke test**
> 
> After several discussions and brainstorming sessions, we have decided to try taking the current stock of NEO-74 and run it through a machine in the basement to convert it into a smoke that subjects will then breathe in. The process may add extra impurities into NEO-74 and change the chemical composition slightly, but the superiors suspect it should not be enough to cause much difference and will still work for our needs. Testing will start ASAP.
> 
> **Hallucination Concerns**
> 
> NEO-74, when inhaled as a smoke, retains its toxicity, but slower acting and requiring more exposure before resulting in eventual death. As well, it seems to have the undesired effect of causing hallucinations in subjects. Subjects have reported hearing voices of gods or visions of fire.
> 
> Most commonly, subjects hear a voice telling them that “the world will change on the 23rd of October.” Several others report accounts including but not limited to: an unnatural yellow glow, a gray ghost speaking of the past, a blue man with two faces, and an indescribable being sleeping in the smoke.
> 
> Naturally, these visions are nothing to be concerned with and should be disregarded.
> 
> **Something is there...**
> 
> Something is living in the smoke... Something is in the basement with the machine... We don’t know who made the machine... We don’t know why we send people there... It starts on its own... It ends on its own... Something is there, controlling it... It seeks the divine... It seeks the blood of its own... The unnatural... The ghost... The two-faced... The sleeping...

Nick frowns. Something in the smoke, huh...? The thought of something eldritch passes his mind, but... No, it can’t possibly. The eldritch doesn’t exist. Previous encounters with evidence to the contrary notwithstanding. He gets up to try and get that leftover cabinet drawer open. Maybe there’s something he can use in there... There’s not much he can do just yet, after all...

He can only hope Rig’s holding his own with Xan, his flirting— more like  _ harassment, _ and whatever toxins they might force him into now...

* * *

He saw Gray, and so he knows he’s dreaming. So he knows he can ignore the shadows and their wisps of dark smoke taking place of people whose faces he doesn’t remember. A true lack of color, for people and places he no longer can find a place for in the visible spectrum and so instead live in the dark off-blacks of his memory. He can ignore the other statics and whoever those people are, perhaps just his mind taunting him with less friendly versions of the man he typically makes tea for. He can ignore Raycon or Deamond or whoever the shifting face speaking in blood red and sharp triangles happens to be. It’s just a dream. None of them are real.

So he can ignore the whispers trying to cling to his thoughts like tentacles around his throat. He can ignore the crooning of imaginary things telling him that he  _ will _ die. That the sun  _ will _ burn and the world will become ash.

That’s already happened, after all. Several times over. Nuclear hellfire and all. A cycle of death in a crisper drawer underground.

They do want his attention, though... He can hear voices, some clear enough to almost be reality, some translucent and imaginary like Raymond’s voice should be. Asking him questions about what he’s writing. Telling him he needs to write about something to do with... names he doesn’t know how to spell and doesn’t want to write... Something calling from the smoke, waiting to be awoken... Rituals long forgotten, written in books guarded by a wasp bearing the truth...

Something about a guardian angel? Or a stranger or something? Some sort of mystery that he’s more certain Nick would appreciate than him...?

He spares a glance at that one. A man in a hat and coat with a shadowed face, standing where Gray had been before. Almost as attractive— He glances down and sees the stranger hiding something in his coat, and sees a hint of writhing ink and abyss underneath. Ah.  _ More _ attractive than Gray. Now  _ there’s _ a body he enjoys, something less tangible or corporeal than a human body.

The stranger smirks and motions for him to go back to writing. He does and looks back to see The Spot empty a second later but it’s okay. It’s good to know he has an ally watching him, and the other whispers have let him go now, thanks to whatever the stranger did for him.

...One voice dares to speak up again, and he stiffens at the harsh whisper in stark, mildewy white.  _ Your color drained, your blood unveined, gods returned with sunlight chained. _

_ Shut up, _ he thinks.  _ I’m more of a god than you will ever be. _

...Well, no, he’s a person. But the point still stands...

Well, no, he’s not a person. He’s a mathematician, and the numbers aren’t working with him. 6^rμ∑R

...Oh, that’s why. Because that’s complete and utter nonsense. Dream logic is weird. He erases it and continues on with the  _ actual _ math...

The Delphi fold all watch Rig’s hard expression as he writes on the board... Letters, numbers, symbols that look familiar and others that don’t... Regardless of their familiarity, it becomes clear that Rig’s “vision” is... math of some sort...

A few of them try to ask questions, but Rig seems intent to ignore them and merely conduct his self-inflicted math test.

“How unusual...” Ozy says. “I wonder how he knows math... Ninety, do you know?”

Ninety frowns. “No... Not a clue...”

“I’m sure it’s helpful for something,” Ozy says. “But it’s not what I was expecting... What’s that say in the corner there?”

“PITS?” Ninety says. “I don’t know what that is.”

“I believe I’ve heard of a place called that,” Ozy says. “One in an abandoned town, guarded by a giant statue of some sort of insect... An old place of learning. Perhaps this is a sign that we should take to encouraging education and learning in the Commonwealth. Find old textbooks, educate ourselves, and then educate others.

“Daddy,” Xan says. “I think it’s just math.”

“It’s never  _ just _ what it appears, son,” Ozy reminds. “That’s something you need to learn. How to interpret visions, regardless of how they may manifest, in the way the gods intend for how to help us and others. If I’m not long for this world, I want to plant the seeds for the world to grow better in the future, however we’re guided to.”

Xan sighs. “Daddy, stop saying you’re going to die. Ninety already predicted we’ll find a god’s blood to heal your illness. I won’t let you die.”

“Everyone dies eventually, Xan,” Ozy says. “It’s a natural part of the world. Only phoenixes and gods are immortal. You need to accept that I will die one day, and you can’t stop it when fate decides on it.”

“But  _ Daddy,” _ Xan groans.

“That’s enough, Xan,” Ozy frowns. “I’m a tired old man. I need to go back to my bed. We’ll review what Rig has written later...” He chuckles. “It all comes together... It—” He begins to cough, and his nurses help support him to keep him from collapsing. “I’m— fine—” he wheezes. “I need to lie down.”

“Daddy...” Xan starts, but the nurses give him a look and help Ozy away. Xan glares at the rest of the fold. “Well. You heard him. Go make plans to get those textbooks. I’ll stay here to see what else Rig writes.”

The others exit, save for Ninety who stays behind and watches Xan.

“What?” Xan asks. “Don’t trust me alone with your boyfriend?”

“No,” Ninety says. “Of course not.” He frowns. “Why are  _ you _ flirting with him? I know why  _ I’ve _ been after him, but he’s just an idiot you don’t even know.”

Xan smiles. “If you want me to stop, then tell me where to find the god Apollo.”

“I can’t,” Ninety groans. “I already told you that.”

“Then, I suppose I’ll continue to flirt. This is Delphi, Ninety. We share here.”

Ninety scowls. “Whatever...”

...Rig isn’t sure where he is or why he’s in front of a chalkboard full of math, but the math is incomplete and it will annoy him if he doesn’t finish it. This looks familiar, and he knows he’s seen this work before...

There’s people watching him, he realizes, hearing sounds from behind him. ...Wasn’t Raymond with him? Speaking in red?

_ Dreaming, _ Raymond says in his normal voice. His normal color, as translucent as it is.

_ As transparent, _ Rig thinks. He glances back to see who’s there. He jumps and turns back around to return to his math. Ninety. Xan. Apparently waiting for him to finish his work.

“This is taking forever,” Xan says, sounding more purple than before whatever just happened. “How long has it been?”

“Nearly an hour,” Ninety says in the red Rig remembers him for.

“Do you think he was having a vision at all? Was he faking it? Or is he not affected by the smoke?”

“He was seeing something. Trust me. I know him.”

“Is that math even accurate?” Xan asks

“You think I know  _ math?” _ Ninety asks. After a pause, he adds “What do you think it’s for?”

“You think  _ I _ know math?” Xan asks. He sighs. “I was expecting something... bigger. From the poet... One who you said called himself Janus...”

“Janus is a two-faced god,” Rig mumbles too quietly to hear. “A liar...” He needs to keep doing math for as much as the board will fit. If he can stall long enough...

“Maybe he needs to be in the smoke for longer,” Xan says. “Until he tells us something about the gods.”

_ “No,” _ Ninety hisses.

Rig turns and catches Ninety glaring at Xan. He turns back towards the board. Where was he...?

“He doesn’t know anything about the gods,” Ninety insists. “He’s just an idiot. Not even a person.”

Rig flinches but doesn’t respond.

_ “Is _ he a synth?” Xan asks. “That’s what that pretty blonde lady from last night said. The one who called him Janus Blue...”

“Babe?” Ninety asks. “Where were you that you met Babe?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Xan says. “If he’s a synth, then maybe that’s why the smoke isn’t affecting him right. I don’t think he’s  _ just _ an idiot doing math like that.”

Rig puts down the final number. He looks over it, trying to figure out if he skipped a step... That’s not the right number... “Heck,” he states, forgetting himself around the others. “I need to do this again...”

“Don’t you think you did enough?” Xan asks, walking closer. Rig swallows, and Xan rests his hands on Rig’s shoulders. “You’re lucid enough now, aren’t you? Why don’t you tell me what this math is for?”

Rig hesitates. “It’s... math that keeps a thing from exploding. Calcu— Calcalating the amount of things that can be put in a thing to do a thing before it gets too big.” He spreads his fingers out and utters a small “Boom” and then underlines the final number he wrote down. “Before thing goes bad and do explody things. It can be 74 thing at most.”

“...Insightful,” Xan says. “Amazing. Love it.”

Rig frowns. “You don’t... sound like you love it...”

“No, I do,” Xan says in the same tone. “I just sound insincere when I love something.”

“...Are you...?” Rig turns and squints at him. “Are you... lying to me...?”

Xan glares at him and storms off. Rig turns around and erases the 74 and writes 63 in its place.

“What does 63 mean?” Ninety asks, walking up to him.

“I forgot to do a thing over here,” Rig says, pointing at another part of the math work. “So I had to recalculate everything and it’s actually 63. Because you have to make the threshold seem lower so people don’t try to risk reaching the actual threshold. Don’t know how I missed that— I’ve had to do this math um... blifteen times, maybe.” He stops and then glares at Ninety. “Also, don’t talk to me.”

“...How  _ did _ you keep from saying something stupid?” Ninety asks. “I struggled to stay lucid enough after that first time not to say who  _ you _ are.”

“What does that matter?” Rig asks. “I don’t get why you’re doing this.”

Ninety turns Rig around and pulls away when Rig smacks him with the chalk.  _ “Ow. _ What? Why?”

“Don’t  _ touch _ me,” Rig hisses. “You don’t get that permission! Why don’t you get that?”

“I’m  _ trying _ to be  _ better,” _ Ninety growls. “I’m trying to make you stop  _ hating _ me.”

Rig drops the chalk and buries his face in his hands.  _ “Ughhhh, _ you don’t  _ get _ it.”

“What am I doing wrong?” Ninety demands. “Do I need to apologize for hurting you? Is that it? Well,  _ fine, _ I’m  _ sorry _ you were hurt.”

“You  _ don’t _ get to  _ talk _ to me,” Rig says. He lowers his hands and glares at him. “That’s not apologizing— You can’t just ‘pologize and- and- and expect things to be different. You hurt me. Really bad.  _ You made me think Deacon was dead. _ You tried to manipulate me and— I  _ hate you. _ I won’t ever  _ not _ hate you. I want you to get help and be better, but you’re  _ not allowed to talk to me even if you do.” _

“Why  _ not?!” _ Ninety growls, shoving Rig against the blackboard. He pulls out his knife, and Rig seizes up. “Do you know how easy it would be to force you to do what I want? I’m trying to be  _ nice _ and  _ earn _ it, and you tell me that nothing I do will get me what I want? So then what’s stopping me from just taking what I want? You’re not any better than I am. You’ve done terrible things before too.  _ You lied to your friends about Legato. _ I know you did, don’t deny it. Why should  _ I _ have to be a better person if you won’t even let me be around you after?”

Rig eyes the knife. “Put— Put the knife away. Please.”

Ninety leans in and holds the knife to Rig’s neck. “Promise to kiss me.”

Rig breathes in sharply. “No— Please, no, just put the knife  _ away.” _

“It’s just a kiss,” Ninety taunts. “Can you not even kiss? Are you really so inhuman that you don’t like  _ kissing?” _

“Yes, fine!” Rig says, tears in his eyes. “Yes, I’m not human enough to kiss— Just take the knife  _ away!” _

“I bet your  _ Deacon _ hates that,” Ninety continues. “That you can’t even  _ kiss _ him. That you can’t  _ love _ him. Not in the way he would want. I bet you can’t even tell him your deepest, darkest secrets.”

Rig sobs. “Please— Stop— I don’t like knives—”

“Does he know what you went to Transparency for?” Ninety asks. “Does he know you used to be a different person completely? Aren’t you lucky, that  _ I’m _ the only person who knows the name you’d try to  _ kill _ someone to hide?” He scowls. “And of course you’d send your friends to  _ kill me. _ You’re not the pacifist you pretend to be, are you? You’re a hypocrite. I bet you’re only using your friends to get rid of me. Since when did you ever care about people? You don’t even seem to care  _ Angle _ is dead. You really did move on because it’s more convenient. And you think  _ I’m _ the terrible one.”

Rig whimpers. “Did— Were you the one to... take down the photos at PITS Pleasantview library...?”

Ninety narrows his eyes. “...I was looking for an advertisement card to find Delphi. Those photos ticked me off so I tore down what I could and then some.”

“Wh— Why...?” Rig swallows. “Why go to Delphi?”

“Because,” Ninety says. “There’s NEO-74 here. That  _ poison _ you were injected with. I was trying to find out more— trying find information for  _ you— _ and walked into a  _ cult.” _

“Why— the letters?”

“You did all this math while hallucinating on NEO-74. Coming down from mine I wrote you letters.” Ninety tilts his head. “You should still be coming down from yours. You really aren’t human, for it to affect you so differently.”

“Fine, whatever,” Rig says. “Not human. You still have the knife—”

“Kiss me first,” Ninety says.

Rig glances down at Ninety’s lips. “...Do— Do you actually know my old name...? Or did I hear that scientist wrong...?”

Ninety scowls. “You want me to prove I know your secret?”

“...Yes,” Rig whispers.

_ “Kiss me first,” _ Ninety growls.

“I...” Rig closes his eyes and whimpers. “I  _ can’t. _ It’s  _ gross.” _

Ninety narrows his eyes. ...He pulls the knife away from Rig’s neck but keeps it in his hand.  _ “This _ is why Angle could never win you. Because you’re less human than even  _ I _ am and can’t even go so far as  _ kiss _ someone? How the hell did  _ Deacon _ win you, then? What did he do that I can’t do?”

“You...” Rig peeks an eye open. “You... hurt me... You threatened me. You’re being mean to me...”

“And  _ he _ never hurt you?” Ninety asks. “Not once, ever?”

“He...” Rig bites his lip... There was the... time Deacon dared him to lick a radioactive sword... The time Rig got sick because Deacon tricked him to eat dirt... The... fact Deacon was trying to find out a name he knows he’s not allowed to know... “...What you did was worse,” Rig whispers. “Why can’t you understand? I can’t forgive people who hurt me like that. I want you to get help— I want you to be a better person— because you deserve a chance Pits never gave you... So you don’t hurt  _ more _ people...” He sniffles. “But— But I can’t forgive you ever. You’re worse than my brother and I still have nightmares about  _ him. _ It’s better for  _ both _ of us— I’m not...” He wrings his hands. “I’m not a  _ person. _ A person would— would be able to forgive someone who they want to hope can be better. A person would be able to want to hurt someone who they can’t forgive... I _ can’t. _ I’m  _ sorry.” _

Ninety snorts.  _ “You _ don’t get it. I  _ need _ to prove I’m worth something.  _ I wasn’t supposed to exist. _ I was built to be replaced. I was built based on Rig Miller and I need to prove I can be  _ better _ than him. I can’t have anyone else.” Ninety growls and presses the heel of his palm into his own teary eyes. “You’re the only one he ever talked about loving. You’re the only one I’ve been able to fall in love with. I wasn’t supposed to  _ do _ that, but I  _ did, _ but I didn’t even get a  _ chance _ to be a  _ good _ person for you because  _ Deacon _ got you first! It’s not  _ fair!” _

Rig’s eyes widen and he then furrows his brow. “That’s... exactly why I hate you. Self-entitled jerk. You— You— I  _ hate _ you. I don’t owe you anything— You—” He groans and waves his hands in distress. “You— You make me so  _ mad. _ I  _ hate _ being mad— You— Whatever Echo and Deacon do to you... You deserve it.”

“Hypocrite,” Ninety snaps at him again. “What happened to wanting me to be better? Why are you so different from what Angle said you should be? What did Deacon do to you that made you change?”

Rig looks away. “Deacon... hurt me really badly.” He glares when Ninety’s eyes widen. “But he  _ apologized _ and  _ meant it _ and is going to actually  _ try _ to be better.  _ Deacon _ treats me like a  _ person _ and not like an object. You hurt me worse and only got worse about it. I rather deal with Xan than you—” Rig stops short when Ninety’s knife hand moves a bit faster than he’s expecting... When there’s a pressure in his side and the feeling of wetness soaking into his clothes. He sinks forward in shock, grabbing onto Ninety for support.

“It’s what you deserve, Apollo,” Ninety whispers before planting a kiss on his forehead.

_ “Why...?” _ Rig whispers, pained and wispy.

“You could have left with me,” Ninety says. “But this just proves it. You’re hopeless. Angle had terrible taste. You’re not the god I thought you were. You’re a fool who should have died years ago.”

“Ninety....” Rig grabs onto Ninety’s arm. “Please...”

Ninety drags Rig back to the stairs, back down the stairs, and pins him against the metal door once more. “You wanted me to be your enemy, didn’t you?” he whispers before stealing a kiss against Rig’s closed lips. “From the moment you saw my face. I was watching— You never wanted to give me a chance. But you wanted me to kill you, didn’t you? Shame you’ll survive this, in the end...” He pulls the knife out and opens the door, letting Rig fall inside the room again. “And by the way...?”

Ninety says a name.

He closes the door.

And Rig lies in the darkness, in pain and in fear as the glow of the NEO-74 smoke fills the room again, and he has only one thought on his mind.........

Ninety knows Rig’s  _ brother’s _ name. Rig heard the Pits scientist wrong after all.

He closes his eyes and waits for... anything that isn’t this...

_...Apollo opens his eyes to a box around him in a hazy, gray world. He reaches up and touches the ceiling and then turns his head and looks through the clear glass-plastic door to the shifting shadows and whispers he can’t make out. He reaches for the door and it isn’t there. He tries to roll out of the box but... his body is too heavy. He feels too tired... The gray world fades to a dreamless black... _

* * *

Ninety cleans his knife with a cloth as he walks towards the exit of Delphi.

“Wait—  _ Wait.” _ Xan blocks Ninety. “Where are you  _ going?” _

Ninety frowns. “I’m holding a knife and you thought it smart to step in  _ front _ of me?”

“Where’s your boyfriend?” Xan demands. “He didn’t come out with you.”

Ninety grins. “Oh, him...?” he asks, his voice cracking as he tries to ignore the ache in his chest that can’t possibly be heartbreak. “We broke up. He betrayed me for the last time.” He laughs. “And I was trying to protect him from you— I’m just as much an idiot as he is...”

Xan eyes Ninety cautiously. “The... others said that the woman they were flirting with said  _ you _ killed her boyfriend and his employer... Did you...?”

Ninety waves the knife around. “Kill my ex? Tell me, did you let that synth go yet?”

“Of course not,” Xan says. “We can’t let him out when he’d try to take Rig and leave.” He grins. “And if you don’t want him now that means I can take him right?”

_ “Perfect,” _ Ninety laughs. “Absolutely.” He scowls. “You let me go. You don’t come after me. And I will tell you exactly who the god you’re looking for is. No more secrets.”

Xan stares. “Yes—  _ Yes, _ of course. Of course,  _ you _ don’t have to stay. Just tell me who—”

“Rig Miller isn’t his real name,” Ninety says. “It’s Apollo.  _ He’s _ the god I ranted about. He is  _ immortal. _ I couldn’t kill him if I wanted to.” He tosses the bloody rag at Xan who grimaces as he catches it. “He’s the one whose blood you want. I’m done trying to help him. Lousy ingrate doesn’t even care...”

Xan grins. He tosses the rag over his shoulder and then grabs Ninety by the cheeks and kisses him. “Thank you so much! Safe travels, brother Ninety. Come back any time.”

Ninety stands there, stunned as Xan runs off the way Ninety came. He turns, about to call after him but closes his mouth and puts his knife away. “Shit,” he whispers, but he takes off, escaping from Delphi as fast as possible.

He should not feel  _ guilt _ over any of his actions. He shouldn’t...

...Maybe Apollo is a god after all. And maybe Ninety failed the test Apollo was giving him.

He needs to escape the Commonwealth.


	11. Anyone Could be a God or Goddess if You Truly Believe in Yourself Hard Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Echo and Deacon come to the rescue!

It takes much longer than they want to find Delphi, but Echo and Deacon spy what should be the right building in the distance.

“Oh, nice,” Deacon hums. “It has a courtyard. Always love a good courtyard. Asked out Becky for the first time in a courtyard.”

“Your deathclaw wife?” Echo asks. “Did she say yes?”

“No, she said—” Deacon makes deathclaw noises and Echo snorts and grins.

“Alright,” Echo says. “So one, we find Ninety and I’m throwing him as far as I mentally can.”

“Good ol’ telekinesis,” Deacon nods. “For all your tossing assholes around needs.”

“Two, we make sure Nick and Rig weren’t somehow kidnapped on the way to Diamond City and brought here.”

“Couple of troublemakers, those two. Like father, like son.”

“Three, if those two _are_ there, we rescue them, and if they’re injured at all, _I’m taking this place down.”_

“What are the chances that it’s a _good_ cult for once?” Deacon asks. “You know, the kind that runs soup kitchens and helps the elderly or whatever. And _not_ the kind that’s trying to summon an elder god or kill people in sacrifice...”

“...Uh-huh,” Echo answers.

“That’s not a percentage,” Deacon whines.

“Let’s just find a way in,” Echo says, taking the lead to sneak up to the unassuming building with Deacon following behind, the two of them going in with guns ready. “The courtyard might be tricky. Not many places to hide, who knows how many doors before the main building...”

“I’ll keep my eyes and ears peeled,” Deacon replies. “Reminds me, you ever get sunburn on your ears? Not fun.”

“If your ears are burning, then someone must be talking about you,” Echo says, her eyes faintly glowing under her sunglasses as she edges along the wall at the entrance to the courtyard in watch for others.

“Oh, I didn’t realize I was that popular,” Deacon says, voice low enough for only Echo to hear. “See anyone...?”

“Two men guarding a door,” Echo says. “Other side of the courtyard, near the entrance. Not many others— Might have gone to bed for the evening...”

“Think we can convince them we’re night shift?” Deacon hums. “Tell ‘em we’re new recruits?”

“Was that your plan when you were coming here to start with?” Echo deadpans.

“Mmmaybe...” Deacon shakes his head. “If I knew it was a _cult...”_

“Shh,” Echo hushes. “Someone’s coming...”

Deacon leans in to try and see. The two of them watch from the shadows as a woman hurries up to the two men, seeming to be in a panic about something. She whispers something harshly at them and motions out the entrance... The two men hurry away from the door they’re guarding to the entrance, and Deacon and Echo slink to hide behind the wall of an archway while they wait for the men to get out of sight. Echo peeks around and watches the woman head to another doorway closed off by curtains, peek inside, and then head back to the main building.

“Hmm,” Echo frowns. “Someone’s gone missing...”

“Should we see what’s behind Door Number One?” Deacon asks.

“I’ll check the door,” Echo says. “You go see if there’s a wizard behind the curtain over there.”

“That’d be a nice change of pace,” Deacon hums. “And me without my ruby slippers.”

The two of them slip inside, staying in the shadows as much as possible as they break off from one another to their proper doors. Echo plucks a bobby pin from her hair and crouches down to pick the lock... A moment later, the lock clicks open... She cautiously opens it and peers in.

“...Nick, what the hell?” she whispers at Nick reading through a Lab Legato magazine inside what looks like an old office.

Nick darts his eyes up and tosses the magazine aside as he stands up. “Echo— Uh— This isn’t what it looks like.”

“What are you _doing_ here?” Echo slips inside. “Did you even try escaping?”

“Guards outside,” Nick says. “And I...” He clears his throat. “Didn’t want to risk them threatening Rig if I misbehaved.”

_“Oh,”_ Echo says. “Rig’s here too, huh, Mister?”

Nick frowns. “I... admit that I made a bad choice letting him decide to head this way, but if we weren’t ambushed we wouldn’t have gone _inside—_ ”

“Ambushed, huh?” Echo asks.

“By someone who apparently was flirting with Rig at the casino,” Nick frowns. “He took Rig away, but I didn’t get to see where.”

“Nick,” Echo sighs. “We need to have a talk about your being rescued kink later.”

Nick’s cheeks flush blue. “Ah— Yes, dear. But before we rescue Rig...” He heads for the filing cabinet and opens the drawer he unlocked earlier and pulls out a pair of gas masks. “Might need these. Read the terminal over here, and turns out this is where _Transparency_ was distributing NEO-74 as a toxic, hallucinogenic smoke...”

“I hate that number so much,” Echo groans. She stops and turns as she hears someone approaching, and relaxes when Deacon pokes his head into view. “No wizard?”

“This place smell weirdly chemically to you?” Deacon asks. “Walked right into that curtained off section and I could swear the fumes in there were making me see things...” He holds up a familiar bag. “Like this thing. Is this what I think it is?”

“Rig’s bag,” Nick frowns. “Is your son still in there?”

Deacon opens up the bag and searches inside. “Yep, Lil’ Deacon is safe and sound... Less Fancy Lads than I remember being in here, though.”

Echo looks at Nick. “Did you remember to feed your boy?”

Nick doesn’t answer. He hands Echo a gas mask and then passes the second to Deacon. “So, about those chemical fumes.”

“Oh, great,” Deacon frowns, taking off his sunglasses and pocketing them to put the gas mask on. “My worst enemy. A bad case of _gas.”_

Echo adjusts her own mask over her face. “Just as long as we find Rig, kill Ninety, and get home safely.”

“By the way, Nick,” Deacon says. “I heard you have a being rescued kink?”

Nick scowls as he blushes again, and he pushes past Deacon to leave. “Stuff it, Deacon.”

* * *

Xan can’t for the life of him figure out where Ninety put Apollo. He already has most of the fold searching for him, all while trying to avoid waking up his father and disturbing his sleep. But it’s getting to the point that there’s likely only one more place Apollo could be, and that would make him have to pass through his father’s room and potentially disturb him.

He groans and heads down the hall to the “KNOW THYSELF” room, stopping as he catches sight of something glowing. He turns his head and shouts when Apollo’s synth “father” charges at him with two others flanking him.

_“Hey!”_ Nick yells. “You stop right there!”

Xan turns to run, but something invisible grabs onto his feet and he trips onto the ground. He scrambles back to his feet, but something slams him into the wall, just before the three box him in. “Who— What—?” He looks to the woman and gasps at the white glow filling up the visor of her gas mask. “What _are_ you?!”

“You want the gods to be on your side?” Her hands glow and crackle with electricity sparking on her fingertips. “Yet you have earned the wrath of a goddess.”

“Are— Are you Apollo’s other friend?” Xan asks. “Oh— Fuck, I should have expected you’d also be gods and goddesses—”

“Yeah!” the other man says. “Janus, the two-faced god. Thor, goddess of lightning. And you met Valentine, god of love.”

“And _war_ at this point,” Nick growls. “Where’s my _son?”_

“I don’t know!” Xan shouts. “I don’t—”

“You might want to answer,” the other man says. “You don’t want Divine Punishment for everyone here, do you?”

“Please!” Xan gasps, hands clasped to beg. “ _Please,_ don’t— Don’t kill anyone here. Don’t kill my _father._ He’s just a sick, old man, and he’s all I have. I’ll tell you whatever you need but don’t hurt him—”

“Where’s Rig?” Nick demands, grabbing Xan by the collar. “What did you do to him?!”

“I don’t know—!” Xan yelps when the woman’s electricity cracks loudly. “I’m trying to find him! _Ninety_ hid him somewhere before leaving—”

“Oh, shit,” the other man groans. “There goes the afterparty.”

“—but he told me,” Xan says. “He told me Rig’s the god Apollo— The one that he predicted whose blood spilt could save my father from his illness. That we could make an elixir from it to heal him. And the bastard apparently _stabbed him_ and _hid him_ somewhere and I’m already having everyone looking for him—!” He flinches when Nick slams him against the wall. “That’s all I know! I promise!”

The woman lowers her hand. “...He’s telling the truth, fellas.” She motions for Nick to step aside and then holds her still sparking hand up to Xan’s face. “Listen closely. Apollo’s blood has already been spilt, but you don’t need an elixir made from it to save your father. _This place is cursed and you have angered the gods._ If you stay here, eventually all of you will succumb to the same illness and perish. If you wish to live, then you will take everyone and leave this place.”

“Okay— Okay, okay, okay,” Xan says. “I’m _sorry—”_

“And tell us where you last saw Rig!” the man adds. “That’s important too!”

Xan points. “Go to the room that says ‘Know thyself’ above it, and I saw him last in the room opposite that. But please, my father’s asleep in there, just— Don’t wake him up, and don’t hurt him.”

The woman lets the sparks sputter out and she steps away and takes on her most haunting voice. _“If you do not heed my warning and leave this place, or if you attempt to hunt down us gods again, it will be your death.”_

“Okay, okay,” Xan says, hands up in surrender. “I promise—”

“Now get going!” she orders, pointing the opposite way.

Xan takes off running, leaving the three of them to hurry to that door Xan told them to take. They pass through into the first room, spying an empty bed and no one else around...

“...Weird,” Nick says. “Didn’t Xan say...?”

“...Let’s keep going,” Echo says, pointing to the next room.

“Well, that’s blood on the floor,” Deacon observes as they enter. “Leading to the stairs...”

Echo looks around, her eyes still glowing from under her gas mask. “Ninety took him down there. Room full of smoke. Danger lies in it...”

“I’ll go get him,” Nick says. “It’ll affect me the least.”

“Leave your coat and hat,” Echo says. “It’ll be impossible to air out.”

“Right,” Nick says, handing Deacon his hat and then taking off his coat and handing it to Echo. He then hurries for the stairs.

“He better get him soon,” Echo says. “Do you know how uncomfortable gas masks are when you have a nose bleed?”

Deacon steps aside and goes to the math on the chalkboard and inspects the parts of it that haven’t been rubbed away. “...What do you think this is for?”

“Explosions,” Echo says. “How to prevent them.”

“...That’s a weird vision to have.”

“Mm-hmm.”

Meanwhile, Nick rushes down the stairs into the smoke hiding whatever danger might be hidden in the basement—be it man or beast or death himself. He stops short of running into a metal door and reaches around in search for a way to open it. He hears a roar on the other side and sinks against the door as a vent sucks in the toxic smoke, slowly and sending it who knows where. It’s a good thing he left his coat and hat with the others, or it would take forever to air them out from these fumes.

He chances to open the door and looks down through the lingering smoke, spying the pineapple shirt before he sees the tear and blood, before he sees the man that blood came from. Rig lies deathly still, barely breathing, and Nick kneels at his side in an instant.

“Kid—!” Nick touches Rig’s shoulder, but Rig doesn’t react. “Kid, come on— You’re supposed to live through this kinda thing— Wake up—”

He hears a soft groan, sees a flutter of Rig’s eyes, but he looks far too pale and worn to wake up. But he’s still alive and that’s good enough for now. Nick looks down to Rig’s side again and carefully checks under his shirt to see the damage—

Not even a scab left behind. The stab wound has already healed, a “cycle” spent on that which means Rig’s current brush with death is from the smoke and smoke alone... Between the toxicity and the lack of oxygen—

“Kid, let’s get you out of here,” Nick utters, soft and soothing though he isn’t sure if Rig can hear. He gets up and scoops Rig up—he’s much lighter than he expected and that can’t be good—and he brings him back upstairs. He’ll wake up as soon as he’s done healing... They just need to make sure he lasts that long.

* * *

Xan watches from around the corner as he watches the group of gods carry their own out. He follows at a safe distance, sticking to the shadows and watching them leave without contest. “No...” he utters, soft and defeated. “But where are we supposed to go?” 

He stops short, noticing the curtain to Ninety’s old room move aside as a familiar man shuffles out. “Daddy?”

Ozy looks around, and he jumps when he spots Xan approaching. “Oh! My son—”

“Daddy, I’m sorry,” Xan says, holding Ozy by his hands. “I let Ninety leave in exchange for him telling me that Rig was the god Apollo. But then Apollo’s friends came to take him away, but they said that Delphi is cursed and that we have to leave or we will all die from the same illness you have now—”

“Ah,” Ozy smiles. “Then it is all going to plan.”

Xan stops and squints. “What...?”

“You remember this room?” Ozy says, motiong over to the old office they kept Nick in earlier. 

“Yes,” Xan says. “You told us there was nothing of importance in there... That we weren’t meant to use the terminals inside or take anything from the room.”

“One terminal has shared that the smoke we use is toxic,” Ozy says. _“That_ is the source of my illness, a small price to pay for visions from the gods.”

Xan’s eyes widen. “You— You knew? The entire time? This has been killing us...?”

“But things are coming to pass as predicted,” Ozy says. He motions for Xan to follow him into the office. “Follow me. Once, long ago, I managed to turn on the second terminal for long enough to read... With your help we can turn it on once more, and I can show you the _true_ gods’ will. Ninety and Apollo are merely stepping stones to something that’s been fated to come for years. What I’ve been planning for since before we moved to Delphi to start with...”

Xan furrows his brow. “Of course, Daddy. Show me what it is...”

* * *

The yellow kitchen is not a friendly sight with the wisps of shadows clawing at the window and darkening the room. He sighs and reaches for the lightswitch, which moves out of reach a few times before he manages to turn it on. Everything stays just as dark, but it _feels_ brighter, bright enough for him to make tea at least. Never mind the ringing phone or the bloodied knife that he shoves off the counter into the garbage on his way to fill his kettle.

The water is clear and cold. He moves the kettle aside and shoves his hand under it, trying to think why this feels too surreal for what it should be... It doesn’t feel _wet,_ but he can still feel it moving...

_“apollo.”_

“Oh!” He looks at the doorway and smiles. “Hi, sorry— S’dreams, right, Mr. Gray?”

Gray stands with silence on his static-y face for only a short second before he answers. _“yes, as usual.”_

“Okay, great,” Apollo answers. “I’ll make tea, then—” He turns towards the stove but stops at the sight of another man, some mysterious stranger standing in the _other_ doorway, a shadow over his face from his hat showing only a smile. “Oh, hi! You’re new. Mr. Gray, is this a friend of yours?”

_“...an acquaintance,”_ Gray answers. _“farmer,”_ he greets and nothing more as he moves to sit at the kitchen table.

“Mr. Farmer, do you want tea too?” Apollo asks.

The stranger gives a small nod and moves out of the way to sit across from Gray at the table. Apollo fills the kettle more than usual and sets it on the stove to boil. Next comes the mugs, the tea bags, and then waiting. He leans against the counter and watches the two men at the table in their silent sit-off against each other.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Farmer,” Apollo greets.

The stranger turns his head up towards him. We met before, his look seems to say.

“...Oh, have we met?” Apollo asks. “Sorry. Memory’s not the best...”

_“i’ve noticed,”_ Gray says.

“Where did we meet?” Apollo asks. He blinks as he feels like he remembers despite knowing he doesn’t. “Delphi? Huh. I don’t remember that, but okay. Nice to see you again, then. You seem like a very handsome man.”

The stranger smirks across the table, and Gray seems disturbed but says nothing. The kettle whistles behind Apollo and he turns off the burner and pours the water into the mugs and sets his timer.

“So Mr. Gray, milk and sugar again?” Apollo asks.

_“yes.”_

“Mr. Farmer, what about you?” Apollo tilts his head at the look the stranger gives him. “Just as is? Okay.” He looks back at the _ding!_ of the timer and then finishes preparing the teas and hands them out.

Gray stands up, taking his tea to the doorway he had been standing in. “ _thank you again, apollo.”_

“Oh— Bye.” Apollo takes Gray’s seat and looks across the table at the stranger. “So if Mr. Gray’s a psyker, is that what you are too? Or are you—” He watches as the stranger stands up as well, pulling a gun from his coat. “Um—?”

_Keep your eyes on me,_ the stranger says, voice invisible yet much too solid to be ignored. Apollo watches the stranger aim the gun over his head, at something behind Apollo, just as something snakes around Apollo’s throat.

The gun fires soundlessly and the world disappears...

His eyes flutter open at the sunlight hitting them and he stares skyward trying to figure out just what is wrong with the blue he’s seeing. It’s clear, it’s sunny, but his cloudy mind makes it hard to understand.

“Rig?” someone asks, and it takes him a moment to remember to respond to it. He looks over and sees Echo seated beside Nick, both of them watching him. “How are you feeling?”

Rig blinks several times as the words do not process in his head. “Whabudiba?”

“How are you feeling?” Echo repeats.

“Hazy,” Rig says. “Like... bl’daisies... I’m blubber.” He blinks a few times, staring as he tries to figure out what’s significant about that phrase...

“Do you remember what happened?” Nick asks.

“Something happened?” Rig asks.

Echo frowns. “Do you remember who _we_ are?”

“Nick and Necco—” He stops. “Nec— Necco wafers...” He furrows his brow. “Echo. You’re Echo...”

Nick hums. “Do you want something to eat?”

“Not hungry,” Rig says.

“You sure?” Nick prompts. “You can have Fancy Lads.”

“Snack cakes,” Rig says. “A fount of super... Su— Soup cans...”

“Shit,” Nick says. “That can’t be good.”

Echo groans. “Great, he’s not _lucid_ again...”

“Lucid?” Rig asks. He looks down at his shirts, only to see his clothing replaced with a loose white shirt and a pair of pants he does not remember owning. “...S’dreams?”

“No,” Echo says. “You’re awake. Do you remember what happened at Delphi?”

Rig squints at her. He tries to think, but he groans and holds his head. “No...? What...?”

“Do... you remember how you were like when you left your vault?”

“...Oh.” Rig blinks a few times and then looks at his hands and flexes them. “Oh— No, no, no, not again—”

“It’s okay,” Nick says. “You’re alive, Rig. You were, uh... Unconscious for a while, and we had to get rid of your clothes because they were soaked in toxic fumes, but—”

“You don’t sound right,” Rig says. “You don’t— blothing is right—”

“Oh, hey, sleeping beauty’s awake!” Deacon walks up to them, and then hurries to keep Rig seated when he tries to stand. “Hey, no— You need to rest, Rigsby.”

“Beverything’s wrong,” Rig says. “I— Head’s all— Things aren’t—”

“Hey, slow down,” Deacon frowns and sits next to him. “Deep breaths.”

“You don’t—” Rig whimpers, tears welling in his eyes, and then leans over, gently headbutting Deacon. “You don’t sound right. Nothing looks right...”

Deacon looks to the others for help, but they just shrug at him. He wraps an arm around Rig’s shoulders. “Something wrong with your hearing, Rigs? With your vision?”

“No,” Rig says. “Everything’s correct.”

Deacon grins, nervous. “That’s a bit of a contradiction, huh?”

“I know,” Rig mumbles. “It’s— Everything’s fuzzy. Everything’s gray...”

“Oh—” Nick frowns. “That... _story_ you were telling me...”

“I— I can see color,” Rig mumbles. “I can— I can hear you fline... But it’s... Not lucid. It’s like before— Can’t think—” He chokes on a sob and then grips onto Deacon’s shirt as he starts to cry. “No— I was wrong— I want to be lucid— I can’t _think—”_

“...82 times 76?” Echo offers.

Rig closes his eyes, breathing and letting tears soak into Deacon’s shirt until he calms down enough to speak. “...12... 30— no, no, wrong, 6 and 8 is— 48— 49?”

“That’s 7 times 7,” Deacon says.

“No, no, that’s...” Rig groans and wraps his arms around Deacon to hold him. “Math isn’t— It’s— blorange. It’s muckets of mucks... What _happened?_ Why am I—? Why this?”

“You, uh...” Deacon looks at Nick and Echo for help again.

“You and Nick went to Delphi,” Echo says. “Instead of going home like you were supposed to. Ninety was there. He stabbed you and threw you in a basement with toxic smoke. Your body went into a sort of _coma_ like it did when you were in that crisper drawer in the vault, trying to repair all the damage you got from the stab wound, the toxic smoke, the lack of oxygen...”

“Did I... die?” Rig asks.

“Mmmmaybe,” Deacon says. “We’re not really sure how that works for you...”

“...Phoenix,” Rig mumbles.

“What?” Deacon asks.

“Mliddle name...” Rig says. “Apollo Phoenix Ray...”

“Your middle name is Phoenix?” Deacon asks.

“What?” Nick asks. “Rig, how many coincidences are we going to have with you...?”

“...Is it?” Rig asks. “Wincidence? Or— Someone— someone said, might be... fate... s’it fate?” He lets go of Deacon to draw in the dirt. “It’s October... Monsters... There’s monsters...”

“You’ve been talking about monsters since we went to PITS,” Deacon points out. “Not the biggest fan of the supernatural myself. Y’know. The _unexplained...”_

Echo furrows her brow. “Wait— When was this?”

“When we were spending the night in Bird Meadows,” Deacon says. “Rig woke up saying he thought he heard a monster outside the window. Then we were talking before I ran off to do that stupid thing we’re not going to talk about, and he mentioned it again. That monsters exist.” He hums. “Also said that there should have been a _third_ letter from Ninety...”

“Rule of threes,” Echo nods. “There should be— Nick, did you get a good look at the people who attacked you the other night?”

“It was dark,” Nick says.

“It wasn’t anyone from Delphi was it?”

“...Shouldn’t have been,” Nick says. “Those men said they saw Rig at the casino. They would have had to already be there, so the ones I met should have been different—”

“None of them were that person I saw stalking our place either,” Deacon says. “Still don’t know what happened to _that_ mysterious stranger—”

“Ugh, if it _is_ the Stranger...” Nick groans.

“Right?” Echo asks. “But, no, I don’t think he’d have any interest in Rigbert here...” She lifts her brow. “What are you even drawing? ...Rig?”

“Huh, what?” Rig looks up. “I— You were— saying words. Wasn’t listening...”

“What are you drawing?” Echo repeats.

“Oh, uh...” Rig squints at the dirt. “...Mlellow Fellow of 1588—”

“It’s more like a skull,” Deacon says.

Rig wipes the skull away. “It’s— yeah.”

“Thinking of death?” Deacon asks. “Don’t tell... You saw the grim reaper while you were passed out and thought he’s more handsome than me too.”

“Death took my bones in the summer of 1945,” Rig says. “The same year Kevin Clambin was ‘lected president...”

“Nope,” Nick says. “There wasn’t even an election that year. That’s not even a real name.”

Echo sighs. “Yeah... Did not exactly miss this version of you.”

“I’be got too many bersions,” Rig says, slumping his shoulders and wiping the dirt from his hand onto his pants. “Like— Like a— Like a mole rat.”

“That reminds me,” Deacon says. “Did we ever feed you mole rat?”

Rig wrinkles his nose. He tips himself over and lies on his side on the ground again. “Just. Hate this...” He pulls at his shirt. “Whose even...?”

“Like it?” Deacon grins. “It’s one from the Deacon Fashion Line.”

Rig blinks. He pulls the collar of the shirt up over his nose and mouth and gets comfortable on the ground, closing his eyes to rest. “This is my home now.”

Echo laughs. “Rig, no, we still have to get back to Diamond City. We’re just airing out a bit. Toxic fumes and all.”

“Think those Delphi nerds actually left the place?” Deacon asks. “If Mister Right Triangle had enough sense to leave...”

“He better not show his face again,” Echo scowls. “Still pissed I didn’t get to throw him. If _Xan_ shows up again, though...”

“Who?” Rig asks.

“Don’t worry about it,” Nick says.

Rig opens his eyes again and stares at Nick. “...Is it secrets?”

“It— Well, no,” Nick says. “But given how Xan was acting, you might be better off not knowing.”

Rig frowns from under the shirt. “...Okay? I guess?” He watches as the others start to talk again, tuning them out in favor of closing his eyes and trying to get some rest even if he can’t sleep. It isn’t fair. Everything was going so well. Everything was clear and colorful and happy no miserable wrong again... Everything was... the eye of a hurricane...

The calm in the middle of a storm... Where everything is still a danger around him, because he can never escape danger... But a brief moment where everything is calm in the middle of something he learned to be calm in because of routine and preparations...

_It was routine for his brother to get mad and hit him. He learned to prepare by turning his back so his brother would hit him there and not his face. He wasn’t even in double digits yet—_

No, think of something else.

_It was routine to hear his mother greet a phone call with “Hello, Brother!” He’d listen to the one-sided conversation about things he could never remember to a person he never knew the name of, just that his mother used a much happier tone with her brother than she used with her child. He could never prepare for the disappointment that he wasn’t as important to her as the rest of the family._

Heck— _No._ Think of something _else._

...It’s routine to fall asleep with Deacon in his arms, either Lil’ or Regular Sized. It’s routine for him and Echo to take turns making tea for each other. It’s routine for him to do secretary work for Nick and be paid for it. It’s routine for him to... share his thoughts and poems and be met with kindness and love. Something he never knew to prepare for. The ability to be sad and be comforted and not treated like a burden. The ability to have room to be a person like he knows he should be but always was afraid to be before. The ability to think now, with clarity, of how good his new family and loved ones are to him, in colors he has learned to love after their negative connotations before...

He tunes back into the conversation for a moment, listens to what the others are saying.

“—but if we _are_ dealing with weird coincidences...”

“It can’t be _that_ perfect a narrative, can it? You really think something like _monsters_ are involved?”

“Why not? We already know ghosts and aliens exist.”

_“Don’t remind me,_ ugh, that time at that mansion...”

“I don’t know. I still refuse to believe in eldritch beings.”

“What do you think the Stranger is, Nick? Just your ex?”

“Why, Nicolas! You have an eldritch being as an ex? You really do have weird kinks—”

Rig promptly tunes out of the conversation. He isn’t lucid enough for this.

...Or he is... but... everything just continues to feel mentally fuzzy and without color... Like he’s rested enough, that he was shocked out of his tired state enough to think clearly— clearer than when he first woke up... but his mental associations are warped...

He furrows his brow, eyes still shut against the sunlight. Weird...

“Too bad we didn’t bring a spare shirt for Rig,” Deacon says, and Rig looks up at him at that. “How are we supposed to recognize him in a crowd now?” Deacon pauses and grins, turning his head to look down at him. “Oh, so _that’s_ how we get your attention?”

“...I had Lil’ Deacon with me,” Rig says. “Where’s he?”

“I’ve got your bag here,” Deacon says. “Only thing missing is your Fancy Lads. Lil’ Deacon is safe and sound.”

“Okay, good,” Rig says. “I was worried...”

“You’re sounding better,” Echo says. “Think you’re steady enough to eat something before you walk with us back to Diamond City?”

Rig pulls the shirt down and sits up again. “Yeah— Yeah, okay. Still not...” He waves at his head. “Like I was. But. Better than a bit ago... Did you say anything important? Wasn’t listening.”

Echo pulls a box of Fancy Lads from her own bag and tosses it at him. “So what’s this about monsters?”

Rig shrugs and opens the box. “S’October. Halloween month. Monster month. Ghosts and shadows month.”

“Not ghosts and ghouls?” Nick asks.

“I met ghouls,” Rig says. “Ghouls aren’t a problem.”

“Unless they’re ferals,” Deacon says.

“Not monsters,” Rig says. “Monsters are— What’s a monster...?” He nibbles on his snack cakes as he thinks. “A... being capable of understanding morals... who purposely hurts others... and enjoys it. Who seeks out hurting others for entertainment. That’s monsters.”

“Oh, the philosophical answer,” Deacon hums. “I would have thought you meant something like a creature made up of too many arms and legs that shows up in fog, or a half-scorpion, half-opossum that haunts your nightmares.”

“What?” Rig asks. “I mean— They can be too. But— But if we’re talking about monsters that are people...”

“And how do you define a person?” Deacon asks.

Rig shoves his snack cake in his mouth.

“Nope, we’re not doing this again,” Deacon frowns. “Either you give me a definition, or you’re grounded.”

Rig slumps his shoulders. He slowly chews and swallows. “I don’t... think it’s easy or right to define what a person is when... when there’s no one way to be a person... It’s just... something you either know for certain or... assume the wrong thing of. It’s... better to assume something is a person than say they aren’t and get it wrong. If— If I’m a person... then I’m just... different. Is all. I don’t know how to define that. ...Am I still grounded?”

“Yep,” Deacon says. He grins and drapes himself over Rig, slowly pushing him to ground. “Come on, lie down, sleepyhead. Let’s roll around in the dirt.”

Rig squeals and laughs as he falls back down with Deacon lying on top of him. “Deacoooon! Noooo! Nick and Echo are watching!”

“We’ll give you some space,” Echo smirks, getting up and holding out a hand to help Nick up.

“Don’t do anything you wouldn’t want your parents seeing,” Nick reminds before heading off with Echo.

“You too, Nick,” Deacon laughs. He looks down at Rig and gently strokes his face. “You make me so worried sometimes, trouble-maker.”

“I don’t... remember what I did,” Rig admits, reaching up to cup Deacon’s cheek. “This is the second time you had to undress me and change my clothes for me...”

“Yeah, I know,” Deacon says. “I’m sorry. I’d ask if I could, but it’s hard to ask someone in a coma if it’s okay to get rid of clothes that are soaked in the thing that put them in a coma.” He smiles. “So you’re admitting you might be a person now? That’s progress.”

“I think weirdly,” Rig says. “I think— Is that why you’re scared of me? Because I don’t think like you think I should think so I do weird think think weird think?”

“...Wow.”

“...Yeah.”

“Well, it’s...” Deacon sighs. “Bit of this, bit of that, bit of everything and nothing. At that point I’m more scared _for_ you than _of_ you. Might want to focus on that one a bit more. Can I kiss you?”

“No,” Rig says. “I mean—” He furrows his brow. “Is— Is that bad? If I can’t kiss you? Am I still...?”

“It’s fine,” Deacon says. “I promise, it’s fine. No lies there.”

“...Am I still a person?”

“Of course. You don’t have to kiss to be a person. Or even human.” He smiles. “Anyone who tells you otherwise, direct them to me and I’ll set them straight.”

Rig squints. “Is that a euphemism for killing them or punching them?”

“Let’s say punching...”

“Okay, that’s okay.” Rig sighs. “Is it... okay if _I_ kiss _you?”_

“...Oh, uh.” Deacon face reddens and he grins. “Y— Yeah, it is...”

Rig gently pulls Deacon down and pecks an innocent kiss on his lips. “Kissing is still weird,” he says, as he lies his head back on the ground and lets go of Deacon. “Doesn’t feel any different now than did when lucid proper...”

“Want to tell me what you mean by that?” Deacon asks. “The everything being gray and fuzzy thing? I missed the story you told Nick.”

Rig pats Deacon’s cheek. “You’re blue. But, not like my blue. Like a nice, almost gray blue. It’s pretty. Echo’s a silvery gray. Nick’s yellow, but not the same yellow as the nightmare kitchen. That’s the colors I ‘ssociate with you and your voices.”

“Huh...”

“And then— And then after Pits up to waking up, I could— S’weird to say...”

“I already know about your imaginary friend. This won’t be any weirder.”

“Um. Well... I was... ‘ssociating everything with clearer, sharper outlines? Vibrant, brighter colors? Everything was so much easier to vision. I could see just as many colors and things as ‘fore, but just...” He waves his hand. “Way I thought about it was different. I— I didn’t realize how much I needed that... Now everything’s like when mind was blubbub before... colorless, for the most part, fuzzier... Like I’m dreaming... I— I don’t actually know—”

He wraps his arms around Deacon’s back and holds him tight. “I— I couldn’t tell after leaving the vault if I was awake... It _felt_ real, but everything’s hazy and wrong. Never had a proper wake up call till things started being colorful... But then I was hyper-aware of everything wrong...” He grimaces. “I— I used to say Rig was my best friend, didn’t I...? And now I’m mad at him for how he treated me. What if one day I look back and be mad about you? I don’t want that. I actually _like_ you.”

“I like you too,” Deacon says. “And I guess that means I ought to treat you right so you have less reason to be mad. I don’t— I, uh—” Deacon rolls off Rig but lies on his side and pulls Rig into his arms. “I don’t want to lose you. We don’t need to go into the whys or hows. I don’t want this to— to be like when I lost Barbara from my own stupid mistakes. From things I did to hurt others. From digging up information on people that may or may not even be true. That _isn’t_ true. I’m going to do things right this time. I’m with you, Rig. I know I did some stupid things, but I _Apollo_ -gize.”

Rig bursts out giggling and holds Deacon tight. “Oh that’s _good!_ Good job.”

“But that means I’m going to keep a closer watch on you,” Deacon continues. “Since apparently _Nick_ isn’t the responsible one between him and Echo. You already ‘died’ too many times from Vault 113 alone. And now from NEO-74, twice, several months apart... I know you can’t trust me to tell you the truth all the time, but believe me, I do not want you to suffer through all that pain and forget everything _again.”_

Rig furrows his brow. “Are you... mad at Nick?”

“...No, of course not. He and I are pals.”

“You can be mad at your friends. That’s allowed.”

Deacon smiles. “Nah, don’t worry about it.”

Rig frowns. “Oh... Okay...”

“But hey,” Deacon says. “Everything’s taken care of now. Ninety’s gone, you’re safe, Nick’s getting an earful from Echo. We just have to get back to Diamond City and everything will be back to normal...”

Rig furrows his brow and shifts to tuck his head under Deacon’s chin. “...Color drained.”

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” Rig says. “Just... Thinking words for poems...”

“Right...” Deacon squeezes him gently. “Well. We should get a bit more food in you and then get you back in one of your cool shirts so people can actually recognize you and not think we lost you on the road.”

Rig smiles. “Okay... Okay.”


	12. What Better Way to Express Your Frustration than Making Fun of Nick's Kinks as Petty Revenge?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A mysterious stranger visits and Rig talks to a ghost.

Rig loses focus on the trip back to Diamond City too many times to be healthy. He knows he’s walking slow, jerking a bit on occasion as he has to remember how legs work, how to keep balance and not fall over. He knows he should be paying attention to the conversation instead of spacing out with a mind full of invisible void. He knows he’s holding Deacon’s hand and that Deacon’s had to pull him close on occasion to keep from walking into something he shouldn’t walk into...

He blinks hard at his new place, sitting on the ground behind debris with Deacon holding him protectively, and Rig looks up for just long enough to see Deacon seemingly glaring at something... Impossible to tell where he’s looking with the sunglasses, but if he had to guess... Probably Nick who rounds the corner to let them know everything is clear.

“Great,” Deacon says, nudging Rig to get him to stand up. “After all, I wouldn’t want to lose my boyfriend to raiders, now would I?  _ Cultists _ on the other hand...”

“Let it go, Deacon,” Nick frowns. “Echo’s already chewed me out enough over it. You want to talk about it, then talk about it like adults. None of this passive aggression.”

“I’m just saying,” Deacon says, hands raised in defense. “I did a big whoopsie trying to dig up information I shouldn’t have. But at least that didn’t get Rig  _ stabbed _ and  _ thrown into a room full of toxic gas.” _

“Wait, what?” Rig asks, and Nick flinches. “Was that Nick’s fault?”

Nick avoids Rig’s gaze. “Let’s keep going. I want to be back in Diamond City before nightfall.”

“You should have already been there by now,” Deacon reminds. “I thought Echo was the one with the bad sense of direction.”

Nick grumbles something and walks off. Rig blinks, but Deacon tugs him along, and he follows again, zoning out once more as the sun continues to crawl across the sky.

“You’re really out of it, aren’t you?”

Rig blinks back into focus. “Yeah...” He looks at Deacon and sighs and gently bumps into him. “Don’t have the best mindspace right now...”

“Anything going on up there?” Deacon asks, tapping the side of his own head. “Puns? Poems? Pictures?”

“No,” Rig says. “Just dark and empty...” He tilts his head and looks ahead at Nick and Echo. “...Why are you mad at Nick?”

Deacon grins at him. “Hey, I’m not mad. If I were mad, I wouldn’t still be here.”

Rig furrows his brow. “Even if I’m here? You would leave...?”

“...Don’t worry about it, Rig,” Deacon says.

“No, I’m gonna,” Rig says. “You’re allowed to be mad, and you’re allowed not to tell me why. But— But don’t tell me you’re not if you are. I can’t read emotions well enough to tell if— if’s anger or not...”

“...I’m not mad,” Deacon says. “Promise.”

“Okay,” Rig says. He pauses for a moment. “Two-faced.”

“What?” Deacon asks.

“Synonym for liar,” Rig says. “Janus is two-faced. You’re blue. Janus Blue. You fit the name better. It’s— It’s pience.”

“Pience,” Deacon hums. “The science of making pies.”

“I never liked pies,” Rig says. “Cooked fruit is weird.”

“Well gee,” Deacon grins. “You don’t like Nuka Cola, you don’t like coffee, and you don’t like cooked fruit? What else don’t you like?”

“Hubflowers,” Rig says. “S’bitter.”

“They’re better dried and put in tea,” Deacon says. “Echo has some in some of the tea the two of you share.”

“Oh,” Rig hums. “Okay.” He furrows his brow. “S’it weird for me to... not like things?”

“Nope,” Deacon says. “Just fun to find out what you do and don’t like. Fancy Lads, for instance.”

“Disgusting,” Rig says. “I love them.”

“Exactly,” Deacon chuckles.

Rig looks up ahead at Nick and Echo and then looks at Deacon and leans in to whisper. “Who’s Xan...?”

Deacon frowns. “You really don’t remember what happened at Delphi, huh?”

Rig shakes his head. “I... remember a lot of red... some purple... Something— Something white...”

“Really focused on colors today, huh?” Deacon squeezes Rig’s hand. “You... want the truth?”

“Yeah,” Rig says. “Please.”

“Nick said, Xan was the guy flirting with you at the casino the other night.”

“Hm. Weird.”

“Yep. Couldn’t resist you and your charm and pineapple shirt.”

“I knew it was the pineapple shirt,” Rig pouts.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Deacon says. “You’re attractive too.”

“No,” Rig says. “Not.”

_ “...Anyway. _ Xan, uh.... Got kinda  _ handsy _ with you before separating you from Nick. That’s all we know.”

“Okay,” Rig says.

Deacon frowns. “You’re taking it pretty well...”

Rig furrows his brow. “I... I’m not... all here, still. Don’t remember that and, um... Don’t— Don’t want to think about what you mean.”

“Yeah,” Deacon hums. “Might be for the best...”

“Also,” Echo calls back. “He thinks you’re a literal god named Apollo and wanted to feed your blood to his dying dad.”

“What?” Rig asks. He looks at Deacon. “Is jokes or...?”

“...Totally,” Deacon grins. “You know Echo. That practical jokester.”

“Oh, okay,” Rig says. He takes a few more steps before: “Wait!  _ That’s _ the joke! What? Why?”

“Because of whatever Ninety said while high on poison,” Echo answers. “And apparently after Ninety  _ stabbed you, _ he got pissed enough to out your name to Xan.”

“...You mean Apollo,” Rig says. “Right?”

“Yep,” Echo flashes a thumbs up. “Ninety’s an idiot. I bet he doesn’t even know  _ that _ name.”

“He— He doesn’t,” Rig says. “I— That was important. I remember that...”

Nick turns back to give him a look.  _ “That’s _ important but nothing else about what happened was?”

Rig furrows his brow. “I... There was— was something else. What was it...? A, um... friend? A friend of yours? Was the feeling I got about him... Some— person named... Fisher? No that’s not—” He gasps and lets go of Deacon’s hand to clap his own. “Oh, oh, oh, oh! Farmer! His name was Farmer! He seemed nice!”

Echo and Nick both stop and stare at Rig.

“You  _ saw _ him?” Nick asks. “Where? What did that bastard do to you? He better not have tried anything funny—”

“Are you not friends?” Rig asks, blinking. “But I— I made him tea and he seemed really nice— There was—” He wraps a hand around his throat and looks away, brow furrowed. “There was... Something else there, in the dream... He— He shot it and I woke up... Who is he then...?”

“The Mysterious Stranger?” Echo asks. “Just Nick’s ex.”

“Hey,” Nick frowns. “He is not.”

“Oh, right,” Echo smirks. “Enemy with benefits.”

Nick sputters. “Echo—”

Deacon laughs. “Oh? This is news to me. You told me he was your  _ ex.” _

“He’s not my ex!” Nick groans.

_ “Clearly, _ you sly dog!”

Rig blinks and points at his head. “So... Are— Are we not gonna talk about the fact he was in my head space or...?”

“Yes,  _ please,” _ Nick says, his cheeks dusted with blue. “You said he shot at something in your dream? And you’re sure it’s the Stranger?”

“Not much of a  _ stranger _ is he?” Deacon smirks.

“I  _ will _ fire you, Deacon.”

Deacon pantomimes zipping his lips shut. Rig rubs his arm and then pulls up the collar of his shirt to hide in it again.

“Forget I said anything,” Rig says. “S’not important or— or ‘nything...”

“The only ‘orny-thing around here—” Deacon starts, and he laughs when Nick sends him a glare. “Okay, okay. Seriously.” He frowns. “Rigs, you’ve got some weird eldritch being camping out in your dreams?”

“S’not the first time,” Rig says. He pauses. “Wait no— Nick said Mister.... What’s his name... is a psyker... So, I guess it is the first time? Mr. Farmer was really polite, though. Something— Something crept in behind me and he got rid of it. Didn’t see what it was— told me to keep focus on him— Hmm.” He furrows his brow. “Weird— Most I remembered from dream time in a while... ‘Cept for the nightmares.”

“Sounds like a nightmare to me,” Nick says.

“I mean...” Rig hums. “Was— Wasn’t to me. I— I got to make tea, and didn’t deal with any of m’usual nightmare monsters... No sign of my brother or Ninety...” He tilts his head. “What happened to Ninety? You said he stabbed me?”

“Ran off before we could deal with him,” Echo says. “Pretty sure he doesn’t plan on coming back, but if he does, we’ll take care of him.”

“Are you sure you don’t remember anything else?” Deacon asks. “I know we told everyone to leave Delphi and not come after us, but there’s no telling if they’ll listen... Anything we could know ahead of time would be useful.”

“Mm-hmm,” Echo agrees. “We couldn’t afford to stick around this time, so we’re a little low on information.”

Rig furrows his brow as he tries to think back... Tries to piece together what could have happened between the dreams he hardly can grasp. “There was a wizard of oz,” Rig says at last. “White— white beard. Old. Nice.”

“The man behind the curtain,” Deacon hums.

“A— A monster in the basement,” Rig continues. “Loud and roaring. Something was— was touching me—” He squints. “Didn’t like that... Kept trying to kiss me...”

“The  _ monster _ was trying to kiss you?” Nick asks.

Rig shakes his head. “There was some— Some name I didn’t know how to spell? Something telling me to write a name... Raymond was being mean to me—”

“Raymond?” Echo asks. “There’s a Raymond now?”

“...Yes,” Rig says. “I, uh... made a friend.”

“With someone from Delphi?” Nick asks.

“Nooo,” Rig says. “With, um... Mind— think— bluh— Deacon?”

“Little Rigster has an  _ imaginary friend,” _ Deacon says.

“Thanks, Deacon,” Rig says, gently nudging Deacon affectionately.

“Named Raymond?” Nick asks. “You named him after your surname?”

Rig shrugs. “He used to be named after my no-longer-existing name.”

“Alright,” Echo says. “And that name you don’t know how to write... How would you pronounce it?”

“Badly,” Rig shrugs. “S’like... Murr.”

“...Is that the name or you giving up trying to say it?”

“Yes,” Rig nods. After a pause, he adds “The second thing.”

“You want to try anyway?” Echo asks.

“Woah, wait,” Deacon interjects. “Should we really be trying to get Rig to chant the name of a potential elder god?”

“Elder bod?” Rig asks, turning towards Deacon. “Wha?”

“Well, you know,” Deacon says. “Weird cult, the Stranger, Nick read a very weird terminal entry while he was captured... And you, you’re prime elder god fodder. Poet and all...”

“...Huh.” Rig turns back towards Echo. “Twenel-knee. That’s the closest I can say words it.” He pulls the shirt back down and smooths it out. “Um... Is— Is that all? I want to get my own clothes back on...”

“Aww,” Deacon chuckles. “You don’t like wearing mine?”

“These are sleeping clothes,” Rig says. “I could sleep in this. It’s not for day wear, for me.”

“Aww! You’re going to make me blush if you keep that up!”

“...I want my clothes, Deacon—”

“Right, right, of course.” Deacon hooks his arm around Rig’s and Rig smiles. “We’re almost there. Just over the river and through the woods, to Diamond City we go. Maybe by then you’ll have sobered up enough that I don’t have to worry about you passing out while walking.”

Rig pokes his tongue out in annoyance and they continue onward. “...Is this what it was like when you told me to call you Tim and took me to Diamond City?” he whispers.

“Nah,” Deacon says. “You were waaaay more out of it and saying stupid things at the drop of a hat.”

“Drop of a hat,” Rig says. “How to court in the Neapolitan sea. ...I miss ice cream. Remember ice?” He waves at Nick despite knowing Nick has his back turned. “Nick? Do you remember ice?”

“Ice still exists, Rig,” Nick reminds. “Winter still happens.”

“Do you remember  _ eating _ ice?”

“...Why were you eating  _ ice?” _

“Cold and crunchy!”

“No, I— I do not remember eating ice.”

Rig turns towards Deacon. “Nick is a coward who never ate ice.”

Echo and Deacon both start laughing, only laughing harder at Nick’s offended expression.

“Alright,” Nick orders. “Not another word out of you two until we make it back home. Any more sass, and you’re both grounded.”

“I don’t know, Nick,” Echo grins. “I think you just need to  _ chill.” _

Rig giggles. “Yay! That’s a good one.”

“Et tu, Echo?” Nick groans.

“You can’t ground me,” Echo says. She leans in and whispers.  _ “I _ have the handcuffs, after all.”

“...” Nick pulls his hat down and looks away. “Yes, dear.”

Sometime later, after a more peaceful walk, the group makes it back into the walls of Diamond City just in time for sunset. They stop for a quick dinner of power noodles, answer a few questions of “who’s your new friend” in regards to Rig which only seems to make Rig more distressed until they finally make it back to Echo’s home and Rig hurries to his bedroom to change clothes.

“Look at that rascal,” Deacon chuckles, setting down Rig’s bag. “He really loves those shirts. What are we going to do when winter hits?”

“Think he’d be willing to trade a tropical shirt for a winter coat?” Nick asks.

“Probably not,” Echo says. “We might have to let him wear one  _ over _ a coat. Somehow. I’ll ask Nova sometime soon if she has any really large ones that will fit.”

“Too bad we can’t just make a coat with that kind of pattern,” Deacon chuckles. “But you have to pay a premium for style...”

“I wouldn’t call that ‘style’,” Nick counters.

“He makes it work, though,” Deacon says.

“Yeah...” Echo takes off her sunglasses and gives Deacon a look. “Why don’t you take your boy on a walk once he changes clothes.”

“Whaaat?” Deacon asks. “We were walking all day!”

“And you owe him three apology Sunset Sarsaparillas,” Echo reminds. “Why don’t you see if there’s anyone still open selling any. Or use that secret stash you have hidden in the city.”

“You’re not supposed to know about it if it’s  _ secret,” _ Deacon pouts. “You’re just trying to get rid of us to ‘get fresh’ with  _ your _ boy.”

Echo wrinkles her nose at him. “You’re the one who kept bringing up Nick’s kinks after you said you’d stop.”

“Fine,” Deacon says, holding up his hands in surrender. “Probably would be better for Rig not to have his innocence taken away from hearing whatever you two get up to in the bedroom.” He heads towards his and Rig’s room. “Hey, Rig!” he calls. “Let’s go get those Sunsets I owe you!”

“Oh!! Okay!!”

A few minutes later, a much happier Rig, in another pineapple shirt albeit in purple and pinks instead of the green and bright colors of the old shirt, walks out, chattering to Deacon about why he likes Sunset Sarsaparilla so much compared to Nuka Cola. Deacon gives Nick and Echo a small salute as they leave, and the door shuts giving the two of them much needed privacy.

“Well, Mister Mystery,” Echo grins up at Nick, wrapping Nick’s tie around her hand and gently tugging. “I hope you’re ready to be held captive and rescued in a way that  _ doesn’t _ put others in danger.”

Nick groans. “You  _ know _ I didn’t do that for a  _ kink. _ Rig just has a face I can’t say no to. Why else did we keep him around for so long?”

“This is why Dogmeat goes to you and Deacon for scraps,” Echo says, rolling her eyes. “Just one cute look and you’re both feeding the two of them treats before dinner.” She ushers Nick towards their room. “But come on. I promised handcuffs, didn’t I?”

Not long after, Nick’s sitting half-dressed, handcuffed and tied to a chair while Echo steps out of the room to give the illusion that he’s being held hostage before she comes to “rescue” him. He struggles a bit for good measure. Makes sure he actually can’t escape on his own. Echo knows her “audience” well, though, and enough to make him a captive one at that.

His eyes widen at the sound of a familiar musical sting and he spits out a  _ “shit!” _ and tries to turn his head to see the bastard he knows is behind him. “What are  _ you _ doing here?!”

_ Can’t I visit a good friend? _ Farmer “asks” him, though it’s never real words with this man. Nick’s half-convinced he’s a psyker with telepathy and teleportation powers, as much as Echo’s abandoned that theory long ago.  _ I merely want to talk, _ he says, standing  _ right _ behind Nick and placing his hands on his shoulders.

Nick feels a jolt down his spine at the touch. “And of course you picked right  _ now _ to do it, huh? When I’m tied up and can’t get away?”

_ You’re the one that likes to be rescued, _ Farmer chuckles, and Nick scowls at the tone.  _ Relax, Nicolas. I’m not here to intrude on your time with Samara. I only want to talk about our  _ **_son._ **

“What son?” Nick demands. “If we had a kid, I’m pretty sure I’d know about it,  _ Farmer.” _ He scowls at what he knows is a smile on Farmer’s face even without sound. “What’s so funny?”

_ It’s strange. _ Nick flinches at something stroking his cheek where his “scars” are. _ Those  _ **_special_ ** _ people I tend to follow... I know where to find them. If they have enough luck and are in a pinch, I know where to go and where to aim my revolver. This one... All the luck he could want, both good and bad. But would sooner die than fight back. _ Another soft ghost of a chuckle.  _ And yet he can’t die. So when will he ever fight back? _

Nick narrows his eyes. “You mean Rig? How is  _ he _ your son? I  _ met _ his father— The original Nick met his father. He was an ass, but he wasn’t  _ you.” _

_ No. _ Farmer finally steps out from behind him and then moves around front to pull up a chair. Nick watches, scowling the entire time as Farmer sits with a smirk, knowing something Nick doesn’t and holding it against him.  _ I didn’t quite  _ **_sire_ ** _ him. _

“Ugh,” Nick would kick at the creep if he could. “That’s an inhuman way to put it.”

_ Just as all three of us are. _

“Hey!” Nick scowls. “You can come in here and mess with me all you want, but don’t you  _ dare _ say Rig isn’t human.”

Farmer tilts his head, something glinting in his eye and neutral expression.  _...Tell me, Nicolas. What do TST-0061, NEO-74, and Ambrosia all have in common? _

“...They’re from Transparency, Inc.” Nick struggles at the handcuffs, regretting his rescue kink more and more as the minutes pass without Echo there to save him. “They’re all things Rig was given.”

_ And which one is the odd one out? _

“...Ambrosia?” Nick asks. “Because it has an actual name and not an abbreviation and a number?”

Farmer leans forward, his face hiding more in shadow leaving the sharpness still seen in his features to appear more deathly.  _ And which of these do you know for certain changed your son to be something inhuman. And why do you think that is. _ Statements. Not questions. Farmer thinks it’s obvious, but Nick...?

Nick doesn’t want to imagine the implications.

Farmer watches for a moment and then stands up.  _ You’ll have to face the truth eventually. It is not my decision when or how you will. But I  _ **_will_ ** _ be watching to see how this thread ends. It’s quite interesting, now that you and Samara have taken an interest in one of my children. Especially with how his threads tie to yours. Quite unexpected, and with someone so seemingly unpredictable.  _ He smiles at Nick.  _ I do enjoy a bit of chaos from the uncertainty all of you contain. _

“Bastard,” Nick spits out. “You stay away from him. It’s bad enough you dragged Echo into your sick games, but you leave Rig out of it.”

Farmer walks behind Nick again, out of sight.  _ Very well. I’ll leave Rig alone. These “games” aren’t meant for him. _ He places a hand on Nick’s shoulder again and Nick tries to shrug it off.  _ But know that it makes no difference to me what happens to the child. Change is change, chaos is chaos. This is new, so very new, but it’s merely a stepping stone in a cosmic game more ancient than you know. One with more players than just us and our child. _

“He’s not a  _ child,” _ Nick groans. “Stop saying that.”

_ He’s not even a quarter of a millenia in years, _ Farmer chuckles.  _ Less than that in years awake. He’s the equivalent of a foetus to me. Imagine what will happen when he is finally born. _

“That’s it— ECHO!” Nick scowls at the door. “NOW’S A GOOD TIME TO STOP EAVESDROPPING AND RESCUE ME.”

The door opens slowly and Echo appears soon after. “...Dude, what the fuck?” she asks, grinning at them. “I was gone for like three minutes.”

_ Samara, _ Farmer greets.

“Farmer,” Echo answers. “I’m here to rescue Nick from you. Are you going to put up a fight or let him go quietly?”

_ Perhaps I’ll fight next time.  _ Farmer steps backwards, letting himself be engulfed by shadows that were not there when Echo had left the room earlier.  _ I’ve said all I planned to for now. _

_ “Rat bastard,” _ Nick growls.

“We’ll have fun with him next time,” Echo says, and she smirks at Nick’s grimace. “Don’t worry, I’ll have you free in a jiffy.”

Nick hesitates as Echo walks up to untie him and uncuff him. “My, uh... My hero. Let me repay you somehow.”

“Oh?” Echo leans in to get a better look at what she’s doing. Clearly not for any other reasons. “What do you have in mind?”

* * *

“So you’re keeping some hidden from me?” Rig asks as he holds onto two of his apology Sunsets while the third is open and actively being consumed as he and Deacon walk around Diamond City. “Are they all for apology reasons?”

“Nooo, of course not!” Deacon chuckles. “Some are for bribery reasons! Maybe even surprise gift reasons if I’m feeling generous.”

“Oooh, that’d be nice,” Rig hums. “I like being pribed with Sunset Sarsaparilla.”

“Oh, don’t go announcing that,” Deacon grins. “Don’t want people getting ideas, do we?”

Rig giggles. “Yeah... Um...” He hands Deacon his open bottle and then reaches into his pocket. He pulls something out and holds it in a closed fist for Deacon to take. “Here.” He drops it in Deacon’s hand. “Blue star cap. They’re lucky. Keep it for— For luck reasons.”

Deacon flips the cap over and looks in the yellow lighting of the city at night at the shape of a star printed on the inside of the cap. “Huh.” He grins and elbows Rig. “I feel luckier already. Thanks, Rigs.”

Rig reaches for his soda. “I want that back now.”

“Right, right, of course.” Deacon hands back the bottle and then wraps an arm around Rig’s waist. “This okay, or no?”

“That’s okay,” Rig smiles. “Thank you for asking.”

“I was wondering,” Deacon says. “How do you feel about pet names?”

“Like Dogmeat or like honeypie?”

“Honeypie.”

“Don’t call me honeypie,” Rig says. “Rig would call me that and I never said anything to him about it but it was a little weird.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Deacon chuckles. “I can do better. So  _ Apollo, _ hmm? Let me dig around in my knowledge of myths and see what I can think of...” He hums for a long and awkward amount of time. “So one of his epithets meant ‘bright’...”

“Bright eyes,” Rig answers. “Mongoose calls me that.”

“I’d call you ‘sunshine’, but I think Hancock has dibs for the people he dates.”

“Right,” Rig hums. “The one who isn’t fictional.”

“Sol?”

“Ehn?”

“Lyre?”

_ “You’re _ the liar.”

“Well,” Deacon grins. “How about ‘my muse’?”

Rig’s eyes widen and he thins his lips. He goes quiet for several moments, glancing from Deacon to his drink and to their path and back. “No?” he says at last.

Deacon laughs. “Well, fine, but why the long pause to decide that?”

“Because,” Rig says. “You’re— You’re  _ my _ muse.” He busies himself drinking his soda when Deacon’s brows lift in surprise.

“...Oh?” Deacon squeaks a bit, grinning through his surprise.

“It’s— It’s weird to say,” Rig says. “Is why I never said it. But— But you read my journals. I have... bleventeen million poems about you or quotes from you. You— You’re really inspiring. I— I like being around you. I get good ideas from you.”

Deacon rubs the back of his neck. “Wow— Does being a muse pay well?”

“Um... I have fourteen caps in my other pocket?”

“...Why do you only ever carry—? Never mind.” Deacon chuckles. “Well. I’m at a loss then. You have any preferences for a pet name?”

“I think...” Rig hums. “I think... It’s something that should— should come naturally. Doesn’t have to have symbolic meaning. Sometimes, when you write poems, you just pick a word that feels right even if it’s not the one with the most, um...  _ Meaning _ behind it. Because— Because you make meaning from it after the matter. You don’t need to come up with something fancy. Just— Just go with what feels right, and I’ll let you know if I don’t like it.”

“Hmm.” Deacon tilts his head as he looks to the side at Rig. “So it’s alright if I raincheck and get back to you later?”

Rig nods. “Yeah. It is.”

“Great.”

“Um, I’ve got a...” Rig looks at Deacon. “I’ve been wondering... Did you lose your hair, or did you shave it?”

“Oh, I shave it,” Deacon says. “Makes it easier to disguise myself with wigs.” He grins. “You’re not going to believe this, but I’m  _ actually _ a ginger.”

Rig stops and Deacon stops beside him. Rig stares. “...You have red hair?”

Deacon lifts his brow again. “Yeah...?”

“Can— Can you hug me?”

“Um... Sure thing?” Deacon wraps his arms around Rig and Rig leans in and tries not to drop his soda bottles. “What do you need a hug for? Is it that shocking?”

“No, it’s...” Rig giggles. “It’s adorable. That’s so cute— You’re a  _ redhead, _ that’s  _ adorable!” _

Deacon laughs. “That’s the first time I’ve gotten  _ that _ reaction out of someone for that. Some people try asking if I have a  _ soul.” _

“Oh, some people used to think I was evil for being left-handed,” Rig says. “I know what that’s like.”

_ “Really? _ Wow.”

“Yeah! And then they don’t make things for left-handed people. Like— Like that Pip-Boy I broke. Was right-handed.” He pulls back and looks at Deacon’s head. “If you... ever grow your hair out again, it’d look so pretty... But— But that’s up to you, if you do or not.”

Deacon clears his throat. “Well, you... are making a good argument for it. I’ll think about it. If you start seeing fuzz, you have your answer.”

“Oh, that’s going to be a nice texture,” Rig says, grinning and dancing a little in place. “If— If you do, let me know if I can touch it— I don’t want to be weird and do it without permission but I know it’s rude to ask too but—”

“We’ll see, we’ll see,” Deacon says. “Now, come on. Hopefully Echo’s done ironing Nick out.”

“...Oh that’s terrible.” Rig laughs. “Nooo, I hate that I got that.”

Deacon shakes his head. “You’re a precious man, Miller.” A few musical notes play, and he looks past Rig. “...Anyway, let’s go.”

Rig blinks and looks over his shoulder. He  _ thinks _ he sees a yellow coat or something in the shadows but... he blinks and it’s gone. “Did— Did you see that?”

“...That doesn’t happen to be the monster that woke you up at your old place, was it?”

Rig furrows his brow. “I... don’t think I ever said it was a monster. Just that... monsters exist... Is— Is  _ that _ who Echo said was watching the house...?”

“...We need to get home now, Rig.”

“Okay...”

They hurry back to Echo’s place, and Deacon is the first to burst in with a call of “I hope everyone is fully clothed or this will be awkward when I go into your bedroom to talk about something seriously spooky!”

Echo replies with a “DON’T YOU DARE” from the bedroom followed by “We’ll be right out.”

Deacon shakes his head. He looks back and frowns when he doesn’t see Rig inside with him. “Rig?” He pokes his head back out the door. “Rigsby? What are you doing? Get inside.”

Rig pulls an envelope from the mailbox. “Um... Rule of threes...?”

“...Damn,” Deacon sighs. “That really is a thing, huh?”

Rig nods and shuffles in. Deacon closes the door behind him, and Rig puts away his remaining bottles of soda and then opens the letter.

“Alright, alright,” Echo says as she fixes her baseball jersey walking out of the bedroom with Nick following behind her. “What’s going on?”

“Remember that guy I said was watching us the other day?” Deacon asks.

“You saw him again?” Nick asks. “What did he look like?”

“Hat, yellow coat, accompanied by a musical sting?”

_ “The Mysterious Stranger,” _ Nick growls. “I told that bastard to stay away from Rig.”

Deacon wrinkles his nose and stares at Nick incredulously. “What does he want with  _ Rig?” _

“It’s complicated,” Echo says. “And nothing we can prove right now— Rig, what are you reading?”

“Got another letter,” Rig says.

“A leftover one from Ninety?” Nick asks.

“...No.” Rig checks the envelope. “No— No, it’s... addressed to me.”

Deacon frowns. “They all were...”

“To— To Apollo Ray.” Rig looks down at the text and then shuffles over to Nick and hands the letter to him. “I’m going to bed.”

“Rig, wait,” Nick says.

“Nooo,” Rig whines. “I— Dizzy. I’m going to bed.” He shuffles off, leaving the others behind.

“Well?” Echo asks, glancing at the letter. “Is it from Farmer?”

Nick reads it over. “...Yep.”

“Sooooo, what’s it say...?”

Nick reads it out.

> _ Its name was once Tvnel’naei; it currently sleeps. _
> 
> _ There are no coincidences; you were lured. _
> 
> _ Evans lied; you were right. _
> 
> _ -Farmer _
> 
> _ P.S. Thank you for the tea. _

“So...” Echo says. “March Evans  _ was _ trans.”

“Is that really the important thing?” Deacon winces.

“Apparently it is,” Echo says. “Who knows how. But we have a name, and we know something’s at play here, and then... whatever the fuck Evans has to do with this. Unless that’s just a red herring.”

Deacon pushes his sunglasses up to rub his eyes. “I’m not ready to deal with supernatural elder gods trying to eat us, I’ll say that much.” He fixes his sunglasses and sighs. “Whatever happened to the good ol’ days, where it was mirelurks and deathclaws trying to eat us and the scariest thing we had to face was a courser and  _ not _ ghosts or monsters?”

“What good ol’ days?” Echo asks. “I always had to deal with ghosts. You know this.”

“I’m going to bed,” Deacon says. “I don’t want to deal with more of this until I’ve gotten some beauty rest.”

“You need it,” Nick says.

“Insert sassy comeback here,” Deacon says as he heads off.

Nick hums. “He  _ must _ not be liking this.” He frowns. “But I thought I told Farmer to leave Rig alone.”

“You did,” Echo says. “But  _ Rig _ is dead. This is  _ Apollo.” _

“...Dammit, of course he found a  _ loophole.” _

Meanwhile, Deacon glances over Rig in bed with his back to him, dressed in one of Deacon’s shirts, and he smiles and slips into bed behind him.

“Mmrr?” Rig chirps like a cat that’s been activated. He turns and blinks at Deacon.

“Just me,” Deacon says, wrapping his arms around Rig to hold him for once. He needs this, this time. To make sure Rig’s safe. After what Xan and  _ Ninety _ did when he wasn’t even around to stop it. After what  _ he _ did that he’s still guilty about... “Go back to sleep, firebird.”

“Mokay,” Rig says, lying his head back down.

Deacon smiles and settles in behind him.

...He’s not getting any sleep tonight. Not with all these new things he has to worry about.

* * *

The Transparency, Inc. sign lights up above the door, attempting to draw him in as a moth to its flame. He looks around the area, trying to find anything else in this dark, dark night, but the shifting world has nothing else for him. Just Transparency and the door that is so much closer now than it used to be.

He loses track of where he is and is on the other side of the door in a blink of an eye. A casino with men and women playing cards and drinking alcohol. He wanders around until he ends up locking gazes with another man.

“Pull up a seat, son,” the ghost of March Evans tells him.

“Um...” He blinks but does as told, sitting across from Evans.

Evans drinks a shot of... something... and then frowns at him. “Well?”

“Oh— I need to talk first?” he asks. “I— I wasn’t planning to be here—”

“Janus Blue’s not your real name,” Evans says. “I looked into Valentine’s operation. Wasn’t exactly going to go in guns blazing to a place like Diamond City without knowing everything I could. Rig Miller, right? His secretary?”

Rig opens his mouth to speak. He closes it again and looks around. “Where—?”

“It’s October,” Evans says. “Ever talk to the dead, son?”

“I mean,” Rig winces. “Not in a physical capacity...?”

“Never been to a funeral?”

Rig pauses. “...Twice, but... I didn’t— I— I have a weird comprehension of death...”

“It doesn’t stick to you, does it?” Evans frowns. “Lucky you, having that psyker bitch on your side.”

Rig stands, scowling.  _ “No. _ Bad.  _ Don’t call her that.” _

“Oh,  _ that’s _ what ticks you off?” Evan scoffs. “Name calling?”

“That’s a— I hate that word.” Rig grips a fist.  _ “Never _ call her that word.”

“You’ve been called it too, huh?” Evans asks. “So I was right. You weren’t just bluffing to get on my good side.”

Rig narrows his eyes. “You... lied to me.”

“Look who’s using his brain,” Evans snorts. “Yes. I’m like you. I was born a girl and decided ‘fuck this’ and became a man. But  _ you _ didn’t say for sure that’s what you meant.” He pours himself another shot. “I made up some lie on the spot to bait you into telling me  _ your _ deal, since I couldn’t  _ actually _ trust you until you told me the truth, but instead you said some nonsense about being a synth.”

“I—” Rig groans. “That’s not what I meant by that. My parents didn’t treat me... Y’know.”

“Yeah, I get it.” Evans frowns up at him. “But it made Babe unhappy, and no one makes Babe unhappy.”

Rig hesitates. “I... got her previous boyfriend killed too...”

“Yeah,” Evans says. “I know.”

Rig feels a hand on his shoulder, and he turns around to see Obtuse and Acute standing in front of him. “Oh— Oh no.”

“Aww, look at that, Obby,” Acute laughs. “He remembers us. So you’re not really named  _ Janus Blue, _ are ya?”

“Should have shot Ninety when you had the chance,” Obtuse says. “Before he killed all of us.”

“That’s not— That’s not my fault.” Rig wrings his hands together. “I— I mean, he was after me and that’s why he killed you, but— But I couldn’t have done anything to stop it.”

Acute chuckles. “I bet that’s what you tell all the folks you murder.”

“I don’t—” Rig buries his face in his hands. “I’m not a murderer—”

“Oh no? What do you think this is, then?”

Rig peeks through his fingers. “Wh— What?”

“Everyone here?” Acute motions around, and Rig lowers his hands to look around at the people in the casino. People dressed in clean, pre-war clothing. Some dressed as scientists. Others still he knows he never saw before. Too many to count. “You know what everyone here has in common?”

Rig shakes his head. “I— No...”

“They were all killed because of  _ you.” _ The new voice makes Rig freeze. He looks past Obtuse and Acute who part the way to let a familiar ghoul walk into view.

Angle grins at him. “Still using my name, Apollo? If you wanted it so badly, you could have just married me. Would have been easier than identity theft.”

“I hate you,” Rig says. He slaps his hands over his mouth, eyes wide.

Angle frowns. “Oh? Is  _ that _ so? After everything I did for you? I did everything I could to keep  _ you _ happy, and this is the thanks I get?” He motions around. “But what should I expect, hmm? You have a kill count much higher than I ever did, honeypie. So this is how a pacifist gets away with being a serial killer. You outsource your murders. You do it through science that you distance yourself from to pretend you’re innocent.”

“It’s— No...” Rig backs away. “No, no, I—”

“Wasn’t I your best friend?” Angle demands. “And you  _ hate _ me now? What did I do to you? To make you want me  _ dead?” _

“It’s—” Rig looks away and mumbles. “It’s not my fault—”

“What was that?” Angle asks.

“It’s—” Rig sobs. “It’s not my fault you died!”

There’s no rebuttal. Rig looks up again and sees nothing but darkness. The casino is gone and everyone with it...

Or so he thinks.

“You remember that bit about ‘no coincidences’ right above the bit about the fact I lied?” Evans asks from behind Rig, and Rig turns around to see him still seated at the table, still drinking shots.

Rig furrows his brow and sits down. “Maybe...? What do you mean...?”

Evans frowns. “Mama always warned me that Carson was connected to some crazy cultists. And that friend of yours, the one who arranged this meeting? Told me some of those cultists were coming to my casino looking for me after talking with him— lousy bastard probably told them shit about me. So if you and your friends hadn’t gotten in the way they probably would have gone after me as some weird sacrifice...”

Rig furrows his brow. “Because you’re trans...?”

_ “God, _ no, that’s stupid.” Evans snorts and pours one last shot and slides it across the table for Rig to take. Rig doesn’t touch it. “They’re cultists, son. They’re not picky with sacrifices, as long as it furthers their agenda. They’ll justify it any way they have to, but anyone is on the table. Even their own.”

Rig stares at the shot glass in front of him. “What does that have to do with the luring me part...?”

“Who knows?” Evans shrugs. “Probably whatever elder gods they worship have their tentacles in all your pies.”

“...Gross.”

“But I’m not here to tell you what the eldritch want from you,” Evans says. “Or what the eldritch are doing to use you as a pawn. Just that maybe it’s better that your psyker  _ friend _ killed me and not cultists killing me to summon ancient gods that no one in their right mind should want around.” He leans back. “Naturally I wasn’t ready to die, but now that it’s happened? No sense in being bitter. Not like I can die a second time.”

Rig glances up at Evans. “Is... dying scary...?”

“Shouldn’t you know?” Evans asks. “You’re here in the afterlife, aren’t you?”

Rig slumps his shoulders. “I’m... immortal. I’m not a normal human...”

“Ah, that explains it,” Evans nods. “Universe planting seeds to get you where it wants you. You’re a bit like a courier I knew about out in the Mojave. Six. Their game was rigged from the start. Shot in the head but lived. Nothing can seem to kill ‘em. Not even me or anyone I worked with. Yet always seems to be right where they need to be. Made some big changes, caused a lot of chaos... First time I’ve heard of a pacifist being the one to make these kinds of changes, but hey, world’s big and weird enough for it. Heard there’s been some people here in the East like that too. A wanderer and a guardian or something... What are you?”

Rig hesitates. “A... bard... I’m the False Bard.”

“You got any more poems for me, Bard?”

Rig closes his eyes and takes a breath. He thinks long and hard of what to say.

“No,” he answers at last. “Not for people who tried to kill me.”

“You’re alright, Miller.” Evan chuckles and shakes his head. “You’re an idiot and only lived as long as you did because of that immortality thing, but you’re alright.”

“What’s this dream even for?” Rig asks. “Why send me a letter about things I’m made to dream anyway?”

“You wouldn’t have been thinking of it to have the dream in the first place if you didn’t get that letter.”

“But what is the point of this?” Rig asks. “What am I supposed to get from this? Closure? Information? How am I supposed to use this? I can’t even confirm this is real— that I’m talking to ghosts and not just nightmares.”

“Nope. So I guess what you get from it is up to you to decide.”

“Am I going to remember this when I wake up?” Rig asks. “I’m dreams right now, right?”

Evans looks at him. He motions at the shot glass. “That’s not up to me.”

Rig picks up the drink... and promptly pours it on the ground next to him. 

He blinks, blurry into a soft bed with arms wrapped around him, his dream already fading from his mind. He flips around to meet with Deacon’s face. “Hey,” he whispers. “Awake or not awake?”

“Hnn, wha?” Deacon shifts and pulls Rig against his chest. “Uh— Yeah, awake. Totally— Totally wasn’t sleeping.”

“I had a weird dream,” Rig says.

“Oh yeah?”

“I don’t remember what,” he continues. “But I— I dunno. Delphi was a cult, right?”

“Yeah...?”

“Am I going to be sacrificed to weird tentacle gods?”

“...That’s terrifying. I hope not.”

“Okay. Love you.”

“Love you too.” Deacon kisses the top of Rig’s head. “Let’s try not to be sacrificed, okay?”

Rig smiles. “Only if you do too.”

“We’ll stay away from Echo’s sacrificial blade, then.”

“Right...” Rig continues to smile against Deacon’s chest. “...Wait, what?” He pulls away and looks up at Deacon in fear. “Wait, what?!”

Deacon bursts out laughing while Rig continues to ask “What?! Deacon, what?!”


	13. A Pleasant Walk through Pleasantvi- Oh My Gosh Where Did That Bear Come From?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back to Pleasantview again! This time featuring Books, Bears, and B'imaginary friends.

Deacon finally gets Rig to calm down enough about Echo’s sacrificial blade for them to have a nice, calm breakfast with Echo and Nick where Rig only has a slight look of fear at Echo every time she looks his way.

Echo frowns at Deacon. “What did you tell him?”

“You know that ‘Tooth’ of yours?” Deacon asks, smirking into his coffee.

Nick gives him a look. “You told the man who’s made it clear he’s afraid of sharp things about _that?”_

“In my defense,” Deacon says. “I was less awake than he was at the time.”

“So it’s real?” Rig asks, quiet and fearful.

“It’s real,” Echo says. “You don’t have to worry about it, though. It stays hidden away.”

“...Why do you have it?”

“Remember the Dunwich Borers story?”

“...Why do you _still_ have it?”

She stares at him. “It keeps coming back.”

“Ohhh,” Rig says. “It’s haunted, got it.”

Deacon laughs. “How exactly does your mind work that you’re accepting that so easily?”

Rig slides the cap of his morning Sunset around in circles. “Well. Echo’s honest with me. And things are weird ‘round here. And she answered the questions I had, so...” He pauses and then looks up at Deacon. “Oh. No, sorry, I just already know ghosts and things are real. Easier to believe something you know is real. You know bioengineering is considered an arcane art at PITS campus?”

“Wait,” Nick says. “That’s _not_ a joke?”

“It’s a joke,” Rig says. “Depending on which students and professors you talked to. Personally, I think the theatre arts majors were the actual ones doing arcane arts. Fall semester 2064, they did some weird— weirdness in the gym and it was closed until the following summer for clean-ups.”

“Wow,” Deacon chuckles. “Gives me high hopes for when I get _my_ theatre troupe up and running.”

Rig smiles a little. He pokes at his breakfast, takes a bite, and slowly chews over his thoughts. “So, um...” he says. “I... got a letter last night...”

“Ready to talk about it?” Echo asks.

Rig furrows his brow. “Who’s... Twenel-knee?”

“Tvnel’naei,” Echo corrects.

“Oh, _hell,”_ Deacon curses.

Rig squints. “Twen— Twen-ten-ten—”

“Tvnel’naei.”

“Stop trying to say it right,” Deacon whines.

Rig blinks. “Twen— Twine man...”

“I like ‘Twine Man’,” Deacon says. “Can we stick with ‘Twine Man’?”

“Scared?” Nick asks.

“Not of the Twine Man,” Deacon says.

“Tweedle-Beedle,” Rig says.

_“Or_ the Tweedle-Beedle.” Deacon scoffs. “Not afraid of any Jabberwocks either. Whatever _this_ thing is, though... Can’t say I’m a fan.” 

“What thing?” Echo asks. She smirks. “Oh, you mean Tvnel’naei?”

“Stoooop!” Deacon whines.

Echo laughs. “Gods, it’s so easy to rile you up.” She shakes her head, smiling. “Okay, we’ll call it something else. So it has something to do with Delphi, huh? And is of enough importance that Farmer wants us to know about it.”

“Wants _Rig_ to know about it,” Deacon says. “The letter was for _him.”_ He tilts his head a bit, turned towards Nick. “He’s that guy from that file you have hidden in the office, isn’t he?”

“I don’t need more of your teasing, Deacon,” Nick growls.

“No teasing,” Deacon says, hands raised in defense. “It’s just... This doesn’t seem like his usual M.O. from what you wrote. Sending random wastelanders letters with important information... Isn’t he more the type to shoot his gun and run, if you get what I mean?” He lowers his sunglasses to wink.

Nick frowns. “You said you weren’t teasing.”

“I’m a liar.”

“...Well, you’re not wrong,” Nick says. At Deacon’s nervous grin, he rolls his eyes. “About the M.O. thing. Echo’s not the first person he followed around, but typically...”

“He shows up when there’s danger,” Echo says, taking on her best storyteller voice. “When you’re on your last legs and fighting for your life. You think it’s the end, but then you hear it: that familiar musical sting... a gunshot... and the being, beast, or bot trying to kill you is dead in one shot... And then the Stranger’s gone before you know it to show up again when you least expect it.”

Rig frowns. “So... He’s not supposed to show up in dreams for a tea party or send letters or arrange meetings with dead ghosts...”

Echo shakes her head. “No, not that I’ve seen. Unless he’s playing a new game...”

“Well,” Nick frowns. “Rig _is_ a pacifist... Damn bastard’s probably playing a different game if one of the people he’s toying with now never pulls a weapon to give him a target.”

“Weren’t we supposed to teach Rig to use a flamethrower?” Deacon asks. “Do you remember _those_ plans? That was, what, a year ago now? September feels like a year ago.”

Nick frowns. “I said we _weren’t_ going to start with a flamethrower.”

“Dead ghosts, you said?” Echo prompts.

“I think?” Rig shrugs. “Had a weird dream. Don’t remember too much about it, but felt like I was talking to someone dead— To— To someone who I, uh... That it’s my fault they’re dead...”

“Really now?” Echo hums. “Weird, considering as far as we know, you aren’t responsible for anyone’s deaths...”

“...Not directly,” Rig mumbles. “No one I _knew...”_ He pokes at his breakfast and then glances up at them. “So... Are we back to work today...? Or doing... other... things...” He sighs and holds his head. “I hate not being lubid— Lucid. Lu— Lurker. Mirelurker.”

Deacon frowns. “What about ‘em?”

“Word you said,” Rig says. “Bad memory word— I’ve got bad memory.”

“I meeeean,” Deacon stresses. “You remembered _that_ , so...?”

“Did we at least find out what NEO-74 did to me?” Rig asks. “That’s— That’s what we went to Delphi for, right? And if we were there, then— Did we find that out...?”

Nick frowns. “...There was a terminal about it. What you were injected with, uh... Well, it was toxic, but it may have.... Helped give you that lucidity you had after the incident at the Pits...”

Rig furrows his brow. “No... But— But that might mean I’ve gotta— I have to have that ‘jected into me again... to— to have blucipapy.” He pauses and then groans, burying his face into his hands. “Ahhhhhhh,” he utters quietly. He lowers his hands and grabs hold of his soda and holds the bottle tight. “I _hate_ Transparency— What did they _do_ to me? Heck— Three of their drugs, all in me. Doing— Doing weird things I never wanted. I hate this— I _hate_ this.”

Nick hums. “Rig— Did you know about a Transparency, Inc. location in Pleasantview...?”

“...What?” Rig looks up from his soda. “Um... Yeah— Yeah, been there a few times. Cherbridge was where they did the surgeries and Railroader things, but did check-ups sometimes in Pleasantview because it was closer, so I could get Rig to drop me off and pick me up after...”

Echo eyes Nick. “What are you thinking...?”

“Well,” Nick says. “We don’t know much about that _Ambrosia,_ do we? And Pleasantview is closer to Vault 113. It would have been easier to ship whatever stock they had for testing. Maybe there’s some information there.”

“There might also be information in Cherbridge,” Deacon says. “You know that, right? Maybe even in Delphi, but we’re not going back there, are we?”

“What do we need to know about Ambrosia for?” Rig asks. “I thought we already knew stuff about that. There was information at 113...”

“Yeah, Nick,” Echo says. “Whatever could you possibly want to know about?”

Nick sighs. “Never mind. It’s a stupid idea.”

Echo grins and leans closer, resting her elbows on the table and her chin in her palms. “Uh-huh? Is that so?”

“Echo—”

“Don’t you want to share with the class, Nicolas?”

“Oh?” Deacon asks, leaning in as well with his own shit-eating grin.

Nick groans. “Don’t you start too.”

Rig blinks and mimics the posture of the other two.

“Rig!” Nick groans.

“What?” Rig asks. “It looked fun.”

Nick frowns, turning his head from Deacon to Echo and back. “You two are a bad influence on him.”

Deacon chuckles. “It’s more fun that way.” He sits up. “Seriously though, I thought Ambrosia T-M was a closed book. Are you two saying there’s more to _that_ story here?”

“Oh, there’s more alright,” Echo says. “If our good friend Farmer is telling the truth about something...”

“No,” Nick says. “No— I don’t want this— Not unless we can prove it’s true, please.”

Echo sighs. “Fiiiiine. Maybe we should make a trip back to Pleasantview anyway. I never got to raid that library.”

“Ooh, good idea,” Deacon says. “I could use a new copy of Dante’s Inferno if they have one.”

Rig blinks. “So— Is the Agency just going to... stay closed longer?”

“One last field trip,” Deacon says. “Promise! Would I lie to you...?”

“Well... Yes,” Rig says. “But okay, but... We’re not going to my house again, right?”

“I dunno,” Echo says. “Nick, did you want to steal more of old Rig’s trashy gay detective novels?”

“I don’t know how you can _read_ those,” Deacon laughs.

“They aren’t for me,” Nick says, his cheeks turning blue.

Rig furrows his brow. “Can I go for a walk?”

“Stay nearby,” Nick says. “And be back in 15.”

“Okay,” Rig says, standing and heading out.

Deacon watches him leave and then frowns at the other two. “Okay. No bullshitting this time. What’s the deal with Farmer and Ambrosia...?”

Nick sighs and looks at Echo to explain.

Echo shrugs. “We don’t know if it’s true or not _but,_ Farmer implied that Ambrosia isn’t exactly of _human_ origins and that Rig being given it makes him his son.” She grins. “Though, human origins or not, the ‘son’ bit was _definitely_ just to fuck with Nick.”

Deacon grins, though his brows lift showing no humor behind his words, “And fuck Nick, right?”

“No,” Nick says. “He declined last night.”

“Ugh—” Deacon sighs. “That’s what I get for asking— So, what, you want to make sure Farmer _isn’t_ Rig’s other dad...? Is he your ex or not?”

“He’s—” Nick pinches his nose and sighs. “It’s complicated—”

Deacon looks at Echo. “Sooo, knowing _you,_ you wouldn’t let our Mysterious Friend stay around if Nick didn’t want him around—”

“Ne-ope,” Echo says. “He’s eldritch. I _couldn’t_ stop him. Luckily, neither of us actually want to.”

“It’s all a game,” Nick says. “We’re not getting more detailed than that.” He lowers his hand and frowns. “But that doesn’t change the fact that he’s dangerous. I don’t want him dragging anyone else into whatever games he’s playing, and I have no idea what he’s playing not only targeting Rig but if _you’re_ seeing him now too. Just because Echo and I have a handle on _our_ encounters with him doesn’t mean I trust him not to put you or Rig in danger because he thinks it’s entertaining.”

Deacon furrows his brow. “So... What’s the general opinion vis a vis his _truthiness?_ Do I have to worry about an eldritch in-law or what?”

“He _has_ to be lying,” Nick says.

Echo hums. “Just like how Deacon lies, right?”

Deacon chuckles nervously. “And— We all know I lie with _some_ truth scattered in for flavor... A bit of bitter truths to some sweet lies...” He clears his throat and stands up. “I’m— going to see if I can find where Rig wandered off to.”

Meanwhile, Rig wanders around Diamond City, walking slow and keeping to quiet, empty paths. He wrings his hands like a sinner with something to hide. At some point into the walk, he sighs and looks to the side at an imaginary walking partner. “Why is everything so weird right now...?”

_“I dunno, kiddo,”_ Raymond answers, voice harsh and mocking. _“Maybe because you were stabbed by Ninety and don’t even remember?”_

Rig groans. “Don’t be mean—”

Raymond baps Rig’s head gently, knocking Rig forward. _“I’m imaginary,”_ he reminds. _“I’m only as mean as you make me act. You want me to be nicer, then make me nicer. You’re the one being mean to yourself and you know it.”_

Rig looks away. “I don’t think—” He feels his side and a phantom pressure that he’s certain was once actually there. “I remember _something—_ I think because maybe wasn’t ‘sleep so long this time?”

_“You did remember some of what happened at Pits,”_ Raymond agrees. _“We weren’t asleep for too long there too. Two days though—”_

Rig frowns. “They— didn’t tell me how long I was passed out here, did they?”

_“I don’t remember.”_

“Heck...” Rig sighs. “What do we do?”

_“I don’t know.”_ Raymond shrugs. _“We_ **_could_ ** _go back, make that second trip to PITS, to the Pleasantview Transparency building._ **_Or_ ** _you could be an idiot and run away again like you seem to want to do.”_

“I don’t—” Rig lowers his voice. “I don’t want to run away. Not now...”

_“Could have fooled me,”_ Raymond snorts. _“I know how my mind works, stupid—”_ He winces. _“Wait, no,_ **_your_ ** _mind. How_ **_your_ ** _mind works. You’re still not feeling the greatest, there’s a bunch of uncertainty you’re not happy with, you want to go back to the familiar and static.”_

“...There’s already been so much static,” Rig says. “Gray static, purple static, white static... S’too much. Everything’s fuzzy... What do we need to do to get back clarity...? If— If maybe...”

Raymond baps Rig’s head again. _“Kiddo, no. Don’t be stupid. NEO-74 isn’t an option anymore.”_

“It never was,” Rig reminds, rubbing the back of his head. He looks at the purple pineapple shirt he’s wearing. “...Purble. Isn’t this the same pattern as the other pineabble...?”

Raymond picks at the shirt. _“Was this in our closet before...?”_

“I don’t remember what shirts you have,” Rig says. “I mean, that I have. This one’s comfortable though... I like it.”

_“...You’re talking out loud, kiddo. For both our voices.”_

Rig flinches and looks around again to make sure he’s alone. He looks back and jumps. “Oh— How long were you...?”

Deacon chuckles. “Remember how I told you you’re _really_ easy to sneak up on? I’ve been trailing you for a few minutes at least.”

Rig winces. “Oh nooo, so you heard— Um— Sorry—”

“You don’t need to apologize for that,” Deacon says. “I’ve heard worse conversations with hallucinations.”

“He’s not a hallucination,” Rig frowns. He latches onto Deacon’s arm and lets Deacon lead. “He’s imaginary. I control that— that conversation...”

“So... I take it that charming fellow is your good pal Raymond?”

Rig blinks. “You think he’s charming?”

Deacon stares straight ahead, silent for a moment. “You... really ought to treat yourself better. I get feeling the need to beat yourself up, but you don’t deserve that.”

Rig sighs and looks away. “I need to— To get back into the hablit is all. Of— Of treating myself kindly. That’s all. It’s been years. Hate that you— That you heard that. It probably seems, um... weird...”

“Again,” Deacon says. “I’ve heard worse. And at least you know Raymond isn’t real.”

“Z’it weird for a 34 year old to have an imaginary friend?”

“No weirder than it’d be for someone 246.”

Rig gives Deacon an annoyed look, and Deacon laughs.

“I could have said 37,” Deacon reminds. “Don’t look _so_ offended.”

Rig pokes out his tongue and says nothing.

“Yeah, yeah, cutie, whatever you say.”

“I’m adorable,” Rig says.

Deacon reaches up to pat Rig’s cheek and then shove his hand in his face playfully. “Yep. The cutest.”

Rig giggles and bats Deacon’s hand away. “Stop! Deacon!”

“Come on, Firebird,” Deacon says, and he smiles as Rig’s eyes widen at him. “Let’s get back home, restock your bag with more than 14 caps, and get going.”

Rig smiles. “Okay— Okay. Firebird. That’s a good one.”

* * *

They make it into Pleasantview later in the day, with just enough light left to get to either the PITS library or the Pleasantview Transparency building.

“It’ll be dark soon,” Echo says. “And one of us can’t see in the dark.”

Rig frowns. “That’s not _my_ fault.”

“How do you want to handle this?” Deacon asks. “Split up? But that would mean we’re leaving Rig with Nick again and you know what happened _last_ time.”

“Will you stop?” Nick snaps at him, and Rig flinches. “As if you never made a stupid mistake.”

“Deacon, it’ll be fine,” Echo says. “Just let those two go to Transparency while we go raid the library.”

Deacon sighs. “Alright, fine.” He grins at Rig. “You keep Nick out of trouble. Any requests while we’re at the library?”

Rig nods and counts on his fingers. “Um, Frankenstein, Edgar Allan Poe, H.G Wells— whatever you can find and carry.”

“Wells?” Deacon asks. “Are you more of a War of the Worlds or an Invisible Man kind of guy?”

“Time Machine and Island of Doctor Moreau.”

“Oh! Not expecting Doctor Moreau! How do you feel about Jules Verne?”

“Never read any of his, but I’ll try some if you grab me something good.”

“Alright, we’re burning daylight,” Nick says. “We need to get going.”

“Okay,” Rig says. “One last thing—” He hugs Deacon. “Bye, love you, stay safe.”

Deacon reddens as he grins. “You too.”

Rig beam and then scurries away leaving Nick to follow after him. Deacon chuckles and then turns to face Echo who he finds smirking at him. “...What?”

“He’s good for you,” Echo says. “I’m glad you didn’t run away in the end.”

“Yeah...” Deacon says. “I just hope I can return the favor.”

“I think you do,” Echo answers as she heads towards the wasp statue at the end of the street. “He’s happy with you. I think that’s all he needs.”

“Do you think I’m being too harsh on Nick?” Deacon asks. “He’s not wrong— I do make mistakes too.”

“At least Rig can’t die, Deeks. If any of us mess up with him, we’ll most likely get another chance.”

Deacon hums. “That’s a scary thought... He’s going to live past all of us, isn’t he? But if we take away his immortality, he’ll die in two days tops...”

“Do you really want to talk about this right now?” Echo asks.

“...Called my bluff,” Deacon says with a sad grin. “Let’s get on that train to book city. Choo choo. All aboard.”

The two of them navigate PITS, fend off some radroaches and scorpions, and eventually find their way to the library. Deacon walks in and rubs his hands together excitedly.

“Well this is worth the trip,” he says. “What do you think, Echo? Start with the A’s or go backwards from Z’s? Ooh, maybe mix it up and start with the M’s.” At the silence and frowns and turns. “Echo?”

He sees a shadow silently moving away down the far aisle. He utters a soft “ah, damn” and sneaks after said shadow.

He trails after Echo, watching her stop at a shelf hidden in the corner under dust and webs. “Echo?” He approaches, as Echo starts to tug rather large manuscripts off the shelf and set them on the lower shelf adjacent to her. He walks up and takes a peek into one of the books—

He shuts it and groans. Weird eldritch stuff. Not this again. “Wow, Echo,” he says. “You’re like a bloodhound to this stuff.”

Echo doesn’t answer. She silently adds more books to a worryingly growing pile.

“Echo...?” He groans. “Bullseye.” Still nothing. He does a quick count. Eight books, one more in her hand. She reaches for another. “Damn it— _Samara.”_

She tosses a thankfully lighter book at him that he dodges. “How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that!?”

“Wow!” Deacon chuckles. “She awakens. What do you have there, huh Echo?”

“Agatha Christie,” Echo says.

Deacon glances to the books Echo gathered and then to the one in her hand. “You know, whoever shelved the books incorrectly like that ought to be shot.”

“...someone was being funny,” she says. She holds up the book for him to see. _The Body in the Library._

“Oh,” Deacon hums. “Funny— You know you grabbed a bunch of, uh... spooky stories that I rather not have told around the campfire.”

“Yes, I know,” Echo says, adding the Agatha Christie book to the pile. She skims over the shelf again for anything else good.

“I just...” Deacon clasps his hands together. “You know I love you like a sister and respect your abilities and our partnership very much?”

“Mmmmm-hmmm?”

“Can you _please_ stop picking up this kind of junk?”

She gives him a look. “No. I have a way of getting rid of these. _Duh.”_

“Yeah?” Deacon asks. “What, do you give them to Nick’s eldritch not-ex— Wait.” He looks over her grin. “Oh my god— You are?”

Echo laughs. “Most of them...” She pulls down another book. _PI Psyche: Cult of the Old Ones._ Huh, a spin-off to those Eros detective novels? “I’m keeping this one,” she announces, setting it on the pile. “And we _are_ looking for _other_ books still.”

“Tall order,” Deacon grimaces at the grimoires. “I’ll go start looking for a working cart. I hope Nick and Rig are having as good of a time as we are...”

* * *

Rig is _not_ having a good time.

Everything _had_ been going fine. Even after all these years, the streets are familiar enough that he can figure out the right streets to Transparency. He made sure that Nick was still following behind, close enough that he didn’t need to slow down. Nick was keeping an eye on things to make sure they weren’t ambushed again.

They almost made it to the corner they needed to turn around when instead a large bear thing, with some sort of skin condition and patches of fur, walked around the corner first.

Rig had stopped in his tracks and slowly backed away before it could see him. It saw him. It charged, and Nick had to spring into action, shooting at the poor bear to try and draw its attention on him instead of Rig and then exit, stage left, pursued by the bear. 

And now Rig’s watching from a hiding spot, crouching nearby, trying to make sure Nick’s not getting injured and dreading the fact that they have to _kill_ the poor bear.

A shadow falls over him, and he spins around and looks up to see a mysterious stranger— Oh wait, no, it’s Farmer— 

_Keep your eyes on me,_ Farmer says again, just as solid and invisible as he had in the dream— Oh, that’s a thing Farmer said in a dream...

Rig furrows his brow, but watches Farmer lift his revolver again. A musical sting plays, the gun fires. Rig cries out a yelp at the sound, the bear cries its dying roar, and Nick cries “The _Stranger!”_

Rig blinks and Farmer is suddenly gone as if he were never there, and instead Nick runs past him into view, turning around to try and see where Farmer had gone.

“Dammit,” Nick curses. He finally takes notice of Rig who stands and shakes as the sound of gunfire so close to him still rings in his ear. “Rig— Are you hurt? Did he do anything to you?”

“S— S’loud,” Rig say, dipping his head to grab at the hair at the back of his head. He shuts his eyes and grimaces. “S’was loud. Need a moment—”

“Damn!” Nick curses again. “I don’t know what he’s playing, but he needs to stay _away_ from—”

“Shut up,” Rig hisses. “You’re loud— you’re loud, you’re loud, you’re loud— Shut _up.”_

Nick shuts up and stares. He opens his mouth to retort but wisely closes it again. He stands silently, glancing up and down the street in search of any other threats or signs of Farmer, patiently waiting as Rig calms himself down.

Rig takes a deep breath and finally lowers his arms, only to wave them helplessly. “Hate that. _Hate that.”_

“The Stranger’s easy to hate,” Nick frowns. “If Echo didn’t like him so much...”

Rig blinks at him. “You— You don’t like him?”

“He gets under my synthetic skin, I can say that much,” Nick says.

“But you’re...” Rig blinks. “I thought you— I’m... _really_ confused.” He wrinkles his nose as he watches Nick’s face. “Are you... friends with him or not? You act like he’s terrible, but Echo acts like he’s close to you...”

Nick frowns. “It’s... complicated. Don’t worry about it.”

“Nick,” Rig groans. “I’m not interested in sex, but I still know what _some_ things mean. ‘Enemies with benefits’. I just...” He shrugs. “I trust that Echo wouldn’t be okay with him if _you_ weren’t actually okay with him, but... Why do you hate him so much?”

“He’s a serial killer,” Nick says. “A prolific one. I’ve been after him for years, trying to bring him to justice.”

Rig squints, as if trying to mentally calculate something, his lips moving slightly as he thinks it over.

Nick sighs. “But— then he started following _Echo_ around. When we’d end up in a pinch, he’d show up and take care of anything that’s attacking us. That’s, uh... apparently how he picks his targets. He picks a person he thinks will make a change in the world. Like Echo said, he shows up when they’re in a bind fighting something or someone off. And he does a one-shot kill.”

Rig twirls his fingers around each other. “How does he...?”

“...He’s not human.”

“Meaning...?”

“Eldritch.”

“Ah,” Rig says. “Okay... Huh...” He waits for Nick to say more and then tilts his head at the lack of continuation. “But then— I don’t understand why you...?”

“I, uh... have a bit of a stubborn streak—”

“Oh, never noticed.”

Nick gives him a look, and Rig grins back. Nick rolls his eyes. “So I hate admitting I’m wrong about this guy. That he’s not just a random _human_ serial killer I could stop. And— And besides that, we have a sort of... _understanding...”_

“The benefits thing,” Rig says.

Nick’s cheeks tint blue. “...Yes. It’s— He’s not hurting us. And I don’t think he cares either way, being eldritch, if I like him or not at the end of the day. But— God, do _not_ tell Deacon I told you this— He makes the ‘fun’ Echo and I have more exciting, and even if it’s just him and me, it’s something else—”

Rig shoves Nick lightly and then frowns up at him. “No. No. Gross. Not what I was asking.”

Nick looks away. “Right.”

“I’m asking why you’re friends hate if not hate friend— _Heck—_ ” Rig crosses his arms and pouts. “You got me all flustered now!”

Nick sighs. “I... like him. It frustrates me that I wasn’t able to bring him to justice after so many years chasing him. Frustrates me that he’s a bit beyond justice. Frustrates me that I enjoy having him around so much after how obsessed I was chasing him. He gives me a choice, if I want him around for something more than a guardian for the Guardian. Sometimes I say yes. Sometimes I don’t. But he’s something ancient and beyond comprehension, kid. If you’re worried about me offending him, don’t. If I had by now, I wouldn’t still be around for you to talk to about this.”

“You’re so weird,” Rig groans. “I don’t know _him._ I’m not worried about _him,_ I’m worried about _you.”_

“What?” Nick asks. “No, don’t be— Like I said, it’s consensual—”

“I— No.” Rig leans into Nick’s side and pats his arm multiple times. “No, no, no. Listen. I— Mom consented to let Brother stay in her home even after all he did to hurt us. Because she loved him and he was her son, even though he was bad for her. If— If he makes you mad, then that’s— that’s not good. You shouldn’t let yourself be around people who constantly make you mad. That’s not healthy— I’ve been through that. I don’t care if he’s eldritch. _You’re_ not. If _he’s_ offending _you,_ I don’t want you—” He grips onto Nick’s coat and peers up at him. “I don’t want you hurting yourself letting him stay if it upsets you...”

“Oh—” Nick’s voice softens. “Kid— Rig, you don’t have to worry about that. Honestly, I’m flattered that he’d take an interest in me and Echo like that. I wasn’t exactly the most wanted bachelor, being a synth and all.”

“Not important,” Rig says. “You’re handsome and charming. And a robot. You’re fifty times better than most humans I’ve met. Are you _safe_ and are you _happy?_ Do you _feel_ safe and do you _like_ him, for real and sincerely? I don’t— I don’t want this being like what happened to Mom—” His eyes well with tears. “I don’t even know if she ever got away from that— that— that _bastard._ I hate him! I don’t know how much he hurt her after I left, how much she let him hurt her because she couldn’t bring herself to send him away! I don’t want that to be you! Is this an actual healthy relationship or not? I need to know!”

Nick winces. “It— It definitely means something when _you_ use a swear, huh? It’s— I’m safe with him, yes. I’m not afraid of him— not of him hurting me at least. He’s an eldritch being, so I’m... _cautious_ of what new developments might happen I wasn’t expecting, but it’s nothing I couldn’t handle.” He chuckles. “If I find out he has extra parts I was unaware of, for instance. Or— Or if we have a son, somehow.” He sighs. “I’m... happy with him. He helped make sure me and Echo got together— saved us enough times to show he wants us alive. Pretending to be unhappy is just part of the game we have. I... If I had to admit it... I _do_ like him. Maybe not _love,_ but... It’s hard enough to say you ‘like’ an eldritch being, that’s all. I imagine affection for them isn’t the same as it is for us.”

Rig takes a deep breath and quickly lets it out. “I... I’m worrying too much, aren’t I...? When— When I’m seeing it from— from a _human_ perspective when should be not that ‘spective...” He pulls back and wrings his hands. “When— When you’re smart enough to know what’s— what’s good and what isn’t and— Is it okay for me to be worried about this? Am I doing this wrong? I’m just— I’m scared.”

“Hey, look at me,” Nick says. Rig glances up and away again, and Nick settles for holding out a hand for Rig to take. Once Rig’s hanging on to that lifeline, he smiles. “I rather you be worried about me than not caring if I get hurt or not. Maybe it’s a weird, hard to comprehend perspective we need to view it from, but I don’t blame you for seeing it from the perspective of someone who’s been hurt and seen others hurt before.” He frowns. “And, uh... Echo would argue that I _don’t_ always know what’s _good_ for me. So, yes. It’s okay to be worried. If by ‘this’ you mean caring about the wellbeing of your loved ones, then no, you’re not doing this wrong.”

Rig tugs Nick’s hand closer and absently feels along the imperfections in the synthetic skin, working gently so as not to damage Nick more than he already is. _“...Do_ you have a son with him...?”

“...No,” Nick says. “Of course not.”

“Good,” Rig says. “I don’t want to deal with having more siblings.”

“No, I’d imagine not,” Nick says. “Can I have my hand back now?”

“No, you’re in trouble,” Rig says. “I’m going to hold it for now so you don’t get in more trouble.”

Nick snorts. “Oh? And why am I in trouble, Mister?”

“Because you made me worried,” Rig says. “So I’m going to hold your hand till I’m not worried. If that’s okay.”

Nick chuckles. “Alright, kid. Whatever you say.”

“Also, um...” Rig glances up at Nick and wrinkles his nose again. “Are you just... _role playing_ that you hate him as part of your ‘game’ with him and Echo...?”

“...Uh... You could call it that.”

“You’re a nerd,” Rig frowns. “You could have just _said_ that and I wouldn’t have been worried.”

Nick clears his throat. “...Sun’s setting. We need to get to Transparency.”

“S’right around the corner,” Rig says. “We’re close now.”

They get to the Transparency labs, and Nick breaks open the door for them to enter. Some of the lights are still lit in the ceiling, along with the glow of a nearby terminal, and there are a few skeletons scattered around. Rig winces and keeps close to Nick as Nick heads for the terminal.

“What— What are we looking for anyway?” Rig asks, eyeing one skeleton propped up in the corner wearing clothes he recognizes. Poor Tiffany... She must have been in for a check-up—

“Just— Following up something Farmer said,” Nick says as he hacks into the terminal. “We’ll be in and out fast.”

“His name is Farmer, right?” Rig asks. “So— So is Stranger his, um... Title? Like Guardian or Wanderer...?”

Nick glances up at him. “Where did you hear about the Lone Wanderer?”

Rig shrugs. “I— Around...”

“...Stranger is a title, yes,” Nick says as he returns to reading. “He’s mysterious and even Echo and I don’t know too much about him, so he’s a stranger. So that makes him the Mysterious Stranger.”

“He asked for his tea black,” Rig says, eyeing another skeleton he might know. Mark? Or maybe Earl? Or maybe that’s not one of the “model trains”... Someone visiting Transparency for other reasons. “No milk, no sugar. Just a cup of earl gray— He didn’t drink it. Mr. Gray took his with him when he left. Milk and sugar. Mine was sugar, no milk.”

“Is that so?” Nick asks, more focused on what he’s reading than what Rig is saying.

“Kitchen was yellow,” Rig continues. “Means it was the Florida kitchen. Yours was a nicer yellow than that one. Is a nicer one...? Would be weird ifs when can hear it right again if it’s a different color the next time...”

“Are you wordy because you’re still nervous or because you’re bored?” Nick asks.

Rig shuts his mouth and looks away.

Nick glances up at him. “I’m not saying not to talk at all. I’m saying if you’re nervous or bored, we need to do something to help with that.”

Rig furrows his brow. He crouches down and opens the bottom drawer of the receptionist desk and tosses aside an old copy of one of the Eros detective series books, ignoring Nick’s soft “Oh, wait—” and instead pulling out a small, green foam ball with the Transparency, Inc. logo painted on. He gives it a squeeze, and the foam gives and reshapes back to normal as he lets go. He stands again and focuses on squeezing and releases the ball between his hands.

“...Could you hand me that book?” Nick asks.

Rig sighs and picks up the book. “You’re a liar too, you know. At least Deacon admits to it when he does it. You need to work on that.”

“...Right.” Nick takes the book and tucks it inside his coat. “Got yourself a stress ball there, kid?”

“I’m stressed,” Rig says.

“We’ll be in and out as soon as I find what I’m looking for,” Nick says. “Follow me.”

Rig follows Nick deeper into the labs, glancing around for the places he’s been to before and trying to remember the purposes of the ones he hasn’t. He keeps squeezing and loosening his grip on the stress ball as they walk. Nick mutters to himself, things about where they’re going and things to look out for, curses about the Stranger and whatever Transparency did, little light-hearted quips that are definitely for Nick’s benefit. Rig squeezes the ball hard.

“Ambrosia, right?” Rig says. “You’re looking for something ‘bout ‘brosia?”

“Uh—” Nick glances back at him. “Yes.”

“What are you looking for?” Rig asks. “If it concerns me...”

“...I’ll tell you if it does.”

“I want to know now.”

“Kid,” Nick says. “I don’t want to worry you in case it’s nothing.”

“You’re going to worry me regardless,” Rig reminds. “Is whatever you’re looking for something that might kill me?”

“...No,” Nick says. “I’d assume not.”

“Is it something that makes me dangerous to be around.”

“Oh— No, of course not—”

“Is it...” Rig brings the ball to his mouth and furrows his brow as he thinks of what else could be so important for Nick to want to find out... “You’re only looking into this because Mr. Farmer, right? Was— Was he involved in this at all?”

“...Possibly,” Nick answers. “That’s what I want to find out.”

“Then just say that,” Rig frowns. “I’m not stupid— I do stupid things, but I’m smart enough to understand that you’d want to know something like that to make yourself feel better. You don’t have to keep that from me.”

Nick frowns. “Kid... Are _you_ mad at me about what happened at Delphi...?”

“No,” Rig says. “I—” The ball slips from his hand and rolls away. He stares at it and then slumps his shoulder. “I feel like it was partly my fault probably...? So— No. I’m just. Tired and nervous Just— Just— Just all anxiety gunk in my head from that fight and gun noise and being _here_ again, after knowing what they did to me and my friends... I— I didn’t want to come back here, but you did so I— I didn’t say no...”

“...What I’m looking for should be in that room up ahead,” Nick says. “Assuming that terminal out front was right. I’ll be in and out to get it and then we can get out of here and find a place to rest for the night.”

Rig nods. “Okay... Can I wait out here?”

“Don’t go anywhere,” Nick orders, and he dips away.

Rig watches him go and then leans against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. _What are we doing here?_ he asks the invisible man next to him.

Raymond mimics his pose beside him, somehow looking cooler at it. Must be the sunglasses. _Are you really going to let him lie to you like that? There’s obviously more to it than just Mr. Farmer was involved._

Rig shrugs. _I let Deacon lie to me like that._

_You’re allowed to hold Deacon to a different standard,_ Raymond reminds. _He’s a different person. And you have an understanding with him. You at least know to expect lies from Deacon._ **_Nick_ ** _never made it clear he’s a liar too._

Rig snorts. _Next thing we know, Echo’s going to be a liar too. It’s not fair. We never gave those two permission to lie to us. Just Deacon._

_You, uh..._ Raymond nudges Rig’s shoulder with his own. _You never gave Echo permission to tell you the truth either. You keep telling her “don’t tell me secrets” or whatever nonsense you say. She probably has a lot she wanted to tell you but now can’t because you blew your opportunity._

Rig darts his eyes away. _I can’t guarantee I’ll keep it secret. I couldn’t even keep my own secrets._

_That’s different,_ Raymond says. _You were tired of having to keep something important to you hidden from people. And you trusted them enough to tell them._

_And look where it got me,_ Rig thinks. _Deacon tried to go to_ **_Ninety_ ** _to learn my old name. Nick made me come back to Transparency for something he won’t even tell me what it is. Echo’s the only innocent party here, and who knows how long that’ll last._

Raymond gives him a look. _You really lost faith in Echo too because the other two are being stupid? Are they all one set in your mind?_

_Yes,_ Rig answers. He tilts his head and squints. _No? Maybe? I don’t want to talk about this._

_Fine with me,_ Raymond says, holding his hands up in peace. _What do you think Mr. Farmer has to do with Ambrosia?_

“Hmm...” Rig looks down the way Nick left. _He’s eldritch, apparently...? Maybe he’s in some way responsible for it...?_

_Ha!_ Raymond grins and nudges Rig. _Didn’t Nick make some joke about him and Mr. Farmer having a kid together? Did he mean you?_

Rig stands up straight, blinking rapidly as the realization hits. “No— You have to be joking—”

_“Just imagine,”_ Raymond whispers. _“Two dads.”_

“Two dads,” Rig mutters. “But I don’t even know Mr. Farmer that well. He’s a stranger. Has to be something else...” He quiets when he hears footsteps and looks up to see Nick returning. “Did you find the thing...?”

“Picked up a few holotapes to listen to later,” Nick says. “I’ll find out for sure then.” He frowns. “Were you talking to someone?”

“No,” Rig says. “Just myself.”

Nick nods. “Right. I do the same on occasion.” He smirks. “Must run in the family.”

“You’re still in trouble,” Rig says, holding out his hand again. Once Nick takes it, he smiles. “Okay, we... We can leave now, right? Please?”

“We’re leaving,” Nick says. “Let’s go meet up with Echo and Deacon and find somewhere to camp for the night.”


	14. Check out Your Local Farmer's Market for some Delicious Octopus Jelly, Today!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick lives in denial, Rig has some weird dreams, Farmer decides to be creepy. As one does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for Scopophobia for the illustrations, and distorted/zalgo text in the last scene of the chapter

Deacon and Echo meet Nick and Rig half way, pushing an old library cart stacked with many more books than expected. Rig hangs onto Nick’s hand to avoid getting lost in the dark until they find shelter for the night and Rig curls up against Deacon’s side.

“So how’d the trip to Transparency go?” Deacon asks. “You keep Nick out of trouble this time?”

“There was a weird bear,” Rig says. “Just showed up and Nick had to fight it.”

“Oh, a yow-ghii,” Deacon says, stumbling as he speaks. “Yow-geeni— A yow— yow-guy—”

“Yao-guai,” Echo says.

“What she said,” Deacon nods. He looks down at Rig and finds him staring at him in utter betrayal. “...What?”

“You don’t know how to say that word?” Rig asks.

Echo snorts. “He trips over his words more than you know.”

“That’s not the issue,” Rig says. “I’ve been imabi-bi-bing Deacon’s voice to remember how to say things— I’m not going to remember how to say the name of those bears if I’ve got him saying it wrong in my head on loop.”

“Yao-guai,” Echo says again.

Deacon smirks. “Yo-ghiinee. Yow-gwee. Yow-ghee.”

“Stooop,” Rig whines. “You’re doing that on purpose!”

Deacon laughs. “Alright, alright, I’ll stop. I’ll just have to find another word you never heard before and pronounce it wrong.”

“Deacoooon!”

“So what happened after the fight with the...” Deacon leaves the rest of the sentence unsaid.

“We went to Transparency,” Rig pouts, holding onto Deacon’s arm. “Nick found some holo-tapes. We left to find you. You had fifty million books.”

“You’re off by a million,” Echo says.

“Fifty books,” Rig corrects. He looks up at her and squints. “Really? That many? W— why so many?”

“Found some that I need to give to someone,” Echo says. “And then one thing led to another... We’ve got plenty for you, don’t worry.”

“Oh,” Rig hums. “I should have asked for Holmes too. I didn’t think you’d be getting that many or I would have had a longer list.”

“Don’t worry!” Deacon grins. “There’s a copy of Hound of the Baskervilles hidden in there somewhere.”

“Ooh, good,” Rig laughs. “I was in the middle of reading that but forgot about it until I had to return it to the friend I was borrowing it from and I still need to finish it. I need to get another copy of Alice in Wonderland or Through the Looking Glass too...”

“I’ll keep an eye out,” Echo says. “Sooo, nothing _else_ exciting happened while you two were on your own?”

“Um...” Rig wrinkles his nose. “I yelled at Nick?”

“Really now?” Deacon asks. “Why’s that?”

“He was being loud,” Rig says. “And I was nervous because Mr. Farmer just fired a gun right in front of me and it was really loud and scared me— Oh, yeah, he helped kill the bear, forgot to mention.”

“You weren’t fighting the yao-guai too, were you?” Echo asks.

“No, I was hiding,” Rig says. “I was watching Nick fight it, and then I noticed a weird shadow, so I turned and saw Mr. Farmer standing there. And he told me to watch him and, I guess, shot the bear? Probably would have— would have scared me more if he shot it and I wasn’t watching him or saw the bear get hurt...” He frowns. “But if I had to choose between the bear and Nick...”

“I dunno,” Deacon says. “A big ol’ mutated fuzz ball or a grimy ol’ detective... Seems like a hard choice to me.”

“Hey, he’s _less_ grimy now,” Echo says. “I put my mouth on him. I’m making sure he stays clean.”

“Ew,” Rig groans. “Kissing’s still gross. And that’s one reason why— you gotta make sure the other person is clean and Deacon’s smelly half the time.”

Deacon gasps in offense while Echo bursts out laughing.

“He’s got a point!” Echo cackles. “You’re the one who told me soap wasn’t worth picking up!”

“Hey,” Deacon argues. “We can’t _all_ smell like sunshine and—” He leans over and sniffs Rig who shrinks back in fear and confusion. “—Fancy Lads? Really?”

“What? No,” Rig says. “What??? No— What?”

“Face it, Rigs, you smell like snack cakes.” Deacon grins and leans in for all Rig leans away. “You know what that means, right?”

“Noooo,” Rig whines, breaking into a giggle as Deacon starts to tickle him. “Deacoooon, nooo!” He flails and ends up smacking both himself and Deacon in the face. “Ow— Sorry.”

Deacon takes off his sunglasses to rub the corner of his eye where the nose piece dug into. “Nah, serves me right. Should have expected you to go for the face.”

“I wasn’t aiming,” Rig says. “Don’t tickle me, I don’t like it.”

“Noted.” Deacon flashes an OK and puts his sunglasses back on. 

Nick enters the room, shutting the door behind him. “Alright, everything looks clear. We should be good to turn in for the night.”

“Mind if I take first watch?” Deacon asks. He looks at Rig. “That means you, Rigbert.”

“Oh, um...” Rig leans over for his bag, flopping onto the floor to stretch out and pull it close. He takes Lil’ Deacon out, pushes the bag onto a few inches away, and then flips over, hugging the bear and closing his eyes. “I’m fine, yeah.”

“Just going to sleep there?”Echo asks. “There’s a mattress in the corner. Nick and I are sleeping in the next room over if you want to take it.”

“...Oh, okay,” Rig says. “I’ll move there when I feel like getting up.”

Deacon chuckles. “If you want me to _carry_ you...”

“No, I’m fine,” Rig says. He peeks open an eye. “Why, would you?”

“Rig, you weigh 100 pounds soaking wet. You’re easy to carry.” He frowns. “No, really— You need to eat more.”

Rig wrinkles his nose. “I don’t think that’s accurate. I think you’re exaggerating... You’re just really strong, clearly.”

“You two figure it out,” Nick says. “Echo and I are going to bed.”

“Night,” Rig waves.

“Night, Rigster,” Echo says. She and Nick head into the next room, close the door behind them, and Nick empties his coat pockets before taking off said coat to hand to Echo. “Sooo, holo-tapes?”

“Did you bring your recorder?” Nick asks. “I can wait until we get back to Diamond City if I have to, but the sooner we can find out if Farmer is telling the truth or not...”

Echo riffles through her bag and pulls out the recorder for Nick to pop the first holo-tape into. He sits down next to her and they listen to the old recording from a long dead scientist...

...The first few tapes don’t hold any information worth knowing. At least nothing important to what they actually want to know and only serves to make Echo uncomfortable. They get to the last tape, with Nick holding his non-existent breath that this one might tell him what he wants to know and hopes isn’t true...

_“We’re running out of time to finalize our deal with Vault-Tec for an experimental drug to test in one of their vaults. They only want something we haven’t yet tested ourselves so that they will be in full control of the process other than us supplying them with what we have in stock. We recently trademarked the ‘drug’ Ambrosia that Vault-Tec is interested in, but we don’t actually have an Ambrosia drug created..._

_“However, we managed to obtain samples from a mysterious..._ **_thing_ ** _that wandered into the Delphi testing center recently. The folks who got a full look at it went mad and were yelling about tentacles and the old gods, but the rest of us think it’s just the NEO-74 poisoning affecting them. Either way, the samples are jelly-like in consistency and appear to have some sort of mutagenic effect on living creatures, the most notable mutation being mutating something living into something dead. (Barold don’t laugh at that, I swear to the gods.)_

_“The longer we work with this... octopus jelly... the more dreams I have that there’s something to this substance that could fulfill our promise for an immortality causing drug if we can figure out the right circumstances for this. I’ve been tempted to spread some on toast— (BAROLD. I said not to laugh!) —but the smell is too unappealing. Like gunpowder and the inside of a coat that hasn’t been cleaned in decades._

_“Meanwhile, a man who was present at Delphi when the samples were taken has been asking to buy the samples from us, but nothing a simple farmer could offer beats the prestige working with Vault-Tec will give us. Vault-Tec doesn’t need to know that we didn’t make this ourselves and don’t know what it is... As long as we package it pretty enough in whatever capsules and dosages we have to in order for them to buy it, we can leave the determining proper circumstances for immortality to them. No one needs to know.”_

The holo-tape ends, and Nick sits there with his head in his hands. “That... doesn’t prove anything. That doesn’t prove _anything.”_

“It has to be eldritch,” Echo says. “Whether or not it’s from _him...”_

“It doesn’t prove anything,” Nick says. “He just said that to get under my skin. Maybe Rig isn’t fully human— Maybe he is some mutant... eldritch-human hybrid... But he can’t be Farmer’s _son.”_

“I can’t believe you two had a son together and didn’t let me know,” Echo says. She grins at Nick’s affronted look. “You’re supposed to tell me these things, Mister. That my boyfriend and his ex-not-ex with benefits had a kid together.”

“Sam,” Nick sighs.

“Look,” Echo says. “In the long run, it’s not the worst thing, having _Farmer_ taking claim to him. There are worse eldritch things and elder gods out there. Would you rather it be someone you’re more familiar with who knows not to break his toys and ask their permission before doing things, or would you rather it be the Twine Man?”

“We’re going with Twine Man?” Nick asks. “I thought we were going with Tweedle Beedle.” He sighs and pulls her onto his lap and holds her close. “I know I have less to worry about with Farmer, but it’s still infuriating that he’d come out of the woodwork to tell us only after I found out Rig’s _my_ family and started calling him my son. Especially if he ends up dragging Rig into something it’d be better for him to stay out of. You know he was rambling about how he prepared tea for Farmer more than understanding the gravity of the situation...”

“Rig doesn’t process information the same way others do,” Echo says. She kisses him and smiles. “But don’t worry so much, nerd. You know Farmer only told you that to rile you up. He could have kept it to himself, and would you really have preferred not knowing why the Mysterious Stranger was following Rig around?”

“I guess not,” Nick sighs.

“Great.” Echo chuckles. “By the way, I picked up more books for Farmer, so when we get back to Diamond City, we ought to kick Rig and Deacon out again... And maybe this time Farmer will join us.”

_“Oh.”_ Nick clears his throat. “Got it...”

* * *

_Apollo walks out of his bedroom and into the yellow kitchen and gasps at the shadowy figure standing at the sink washing dishes. “Hey!” he shouts. No, no, what’s his brother doing here? He’s not supposed to— “You’re not supposed to be here! Get out!”_

_His brother turns to face him, angry and threatening, holding a plate like he plans to break it over his head. “You can’t say that to me.”_

_He cowers, shaking but trying to stay strong. “Yes I can! Get out!”_

_His brother throws the plate and it disappears into the wall behind him. Apollo runs for the porch where his dad is smoking, holding a cigarette in his exposed metal hand and his glowing yellow eyes looking up at him as he stands at the open sliding door._

_“Dad!” he says, young and small, just the scared child he never grew out of being. “He’s trying to hurt me again!”_

_“Shit,” his dad curses, angry at having to deal with this again. His dad stands up, pulling out the machete he keeps behind the chair— pulling a large knife, jagged wildly like it’s a monster’s tooth, and Apollo steps aside to let his dad search for his brother..._

_Apollo looks back onto the porch, spotting movement in the sunny day outside. He frowns and steps outside to investigate..._

_As soon as he opens the screen door to a room filled with white light, a scalpel flies at him._

Rig yelps as he pushes himself up, staring in the dark at the mattress he’s on, shaking and breathing heavily.

“Hey,” someone whispers. “You okay? Nightmare...?”

Rig sits up and Deacon settles on the mattress next to him and wraps an arm around him. He buries his face into Deacon’s shoulder and grips tight to his shirt.

“You want to talk about it?” Deacon asks.

“Brother tried to hit me with a plate,” Rig says. “And I told Dad— Or Nick, might’ve been Nick? And he grabbed a machet— machete to um... and someone threw a— one of those doctor knives, I don’t know how to pronounce it—”

“A scoople,” Deacon says.

“That was a test,” Rig frowns.

“A scalpel, huh?” Deacon corrects. “Nick was in your dream, huh...? With a machete— that’s a new one.”

“It was a weird machete,” Rig says. “Didn’t look right— all jaggedy andy and final pam pandy—” He stops and sighs. “All jaggedy, like some weird, spooky knife thing...”

“...Like a tooth?” Deacon asks.

Rig blinks. “Maybe?”

Deacon groans. “See, this is why I wanted first watch— I didn’t want to sleep while in the same room as those haunted books Echo picked up to give to someone.”

“Who eats haunted books?” Rig asks.

Deacon snorts and chuckles. “Firebird, don’t tell me you’re _eating_ books?”

“What?” Rig asks. “Oh— Heck, no, I’m just. Saying stupid things again.”

“You know what eats haunted books?” Deacon asks. “Zombie bookworms.”

“Word vampires,” Rig adds. “They bite you and steal your words to make them their own, and that’s how English was invented.” He tilts his head. “I want to see the haunted books...”

“No, no, trust me,” Deacon grimaces. “You really don’t. You think your nightmares are bad now...” He smiles. “Hey, but I’m sure you’ll be fine if you want to try sleeping again. No nightmares a second time.” At Rig’s sigh, he tilts his head. “Unless you need to talk about it more...?”

“It just... hecking sucks,” Rig frowns.

“Wow, hey, watch the fucking language.”

Rig shakes his head. “Just... It was so long ago. I haven’t seen him in so long. Why do I still have to have nightmares about him? I don’t even remember what he looks like. Just— shadowy shadow things for faces I can’t remember, still threatening me in voices I can’t remember the sound of...”

“Your own brother, huh?” Deacon frowns. “No wonder you’d react just as badly to his name.”

“He was a bad person,” Rig says. “I never wanted to be like him. But I— I was for a bit, and that was scary to realize... I don’t want to hurt people— He hurt me too much for me to want to pay that forward. I...” He lets go of Deacon and slumps back down onto the mattress, curling around Lil’ Deacon. “I can’t learn to defend myself, sorry. We’re just— I just have to stay imbortal since that’s the only thing keeping me alive. Night.”

“Rig,” Deacon sighs. He pats Rig’s arm. “Alright, sleep tight, Firebird. I’ll join you soon as I switch out with Nick or Echo.”

“Okay,” Rig mumbles. “...Thank you.”

Deacon watches Rig a moment longer and then stands up. One cigarette and he’ll switch out... He tilts his head and looks out the broken window at dark figures moving past towards some unknown destination... Weird, inhuman shadows in the darkness that he’s not quite sure he’s seeing right. His hand goes to his gun as he watches from the shadows in case any of those figures try to come inside...

The cigarette, Rig, and eldritch nightmares will have to wait.

* * *

_“To call a fig a fig, a trough a trough,” a purple man with a face of static reads the plaque attached to the broken, decaying wasp statue outside the old university. “What is that supposed to mean?”_

_“To call something for what it is,” a man behind him says, made of white wisps and leaning on a crutch. “To tell the truth.”_

_Purple frowns. “And the truth is that something sleeps at Delphi. An old god you want to reawaken. Tvnel’naei.”_

_White nods. “Yes. And others as well. We will find the books here, for how to reawaken Tvnel’naei and others still.”_

_Purple looks to the school and the others from Delphi entering with other beings, with eyes like the broken glass on the statue in front of him, more wings than he can count, and an ire even Ninety couldn’t match. “There was another of these old gods who tried to free the one at Delphi.”_

_“Injured, split,” White says. “No longer as he was. No longer willing to share this world. We can’t use his substance. He’s too strong to overpower. But one who he begot...”_

_“Apollo,” Purple says._ **_“That’s_ ** _what his blood is meant for.”_

_“The son and sun,” White says. “Like the visions I and others had. Like the wasp cultists shared with us. Like the prophecy in the terminal said. ‘Color drained, blood unveined, gods returned with sunlight chained. A son to die, a two-faced lie, a ghost and glow, to wake what’s below...’”_

_Purple scratches idly at his head. “And... You’re_ **_certain_ ** _that wasn’t just nonsense. Since that other terminal said the smoke at Delphi is toxic and hallucinogenic.”_

_“You have much to learn, Xan,” White sighs. “This is what we came here for. For you to learn, at long last. If you are to be my legacy, I need to prepare you for what’s to come. I may die, but I will die with my kingdom made and my name remembered for the rest of time. I am Ozymandias. Look upon my works, ye mighty, and despair.”_

_“Stop saying you’ll die,” Xan says. “Why would you want to die?” He looks back when Ozy places a hand on his arm, and he turns the lantern, casting shadows on Ozy’s hollow face._

_“Your mother has been waiting long enough.”_

__

The dark tone startles Rig from his sleep, and he jolts up out of someone’s arms.

“Huh?” Deacon blinks up at him, sunglasses askew. “Where’s the fire? Is it a deathclaw?”

“Wha?” Rig asks. “Oh— No. Just another weird dream.”

“Ohhh, _gotcha.”_ Deacon yawns and sits up, fixing his sunglasses. “Can’t be any weirder than mine. You ever get that dream where you’re naked in front of raiders armed only with a rubber chicken and witty jokes you can’t seem to say right?”

“What?” Rig squints. “You— No. I have dreams where I can’t get my clothes _off_ but they’re too tight so I need them off.”

“Well, if you ever need help with that...” Deacon clicks his tongue.

Rig continues to stare. “I didn’t like that one.”

Deacon winces. “Yeah, sorry— Must still be dreaming.”

“Nope,” Echo calls over. “You just need better material when you first wake up.”

“Well, good morning to you too,” Deacon grins. “What’s for breakfast? You know, Rig was eyeing those books of your last night. And he’s right, they are looking real tasty right now, right Rigsby?”

“Noooo,” Rig groans.

“We’re eating the food we got on the way here,” Echo says. “And then it’s straight back to Diamond City.”

“What’s the rush?” Deacon asks. “I thought we could sightsee while we were here. Check out Rig’s old haunts.”

Echo grins. “You _really_ want to know?”

“Oooh, with _that_ tone?” Deacon laughs. “I don’t know, _do_ I?”

“I don’t,” Rig says. “I want to go back to Diamond City too.”

Deacon snaps his fingers. “Outvoted two to one. Unless... Hey, Mr. Valentine, what’s _your_ vote?”

Nick looks up from the book he’s reading. “Diamond City. Sightseeing’s what got me in trouble the _last_ time.”

“Fair enough!”

The trip back goes smoothly, even with the large library cart of books they have to navigate across the wastelands back home. Even with Deacon looking around for something and Rig on edge from both his nightmares. Nick and Echo probably notice, Rig thinks, but neither of them comment on it. Maybe they’re even looking for something specific as well.

It’s a smooth trip, and Rig only realizes halfway through how silent it is too, as opposed to their usual banter.

When they get back to Diamond City, Deacon makes an excuse to leave and slips away while the other three wheel the cart back to Echo’s home. They get all the books inside, and Rig eyes the thick tomes covered in leather and weird symbols Echo works on carrying to her room.

“...Can I help?” Rig asks, pointing nervously at the books.

“I’ve got it,” Echo says. “If I need help, Nick can help me.”

“You got those from the school libarby, right?” Rig asks. “Spooky, elber god things?”

Echo looks up at him. “...They’ll be gone soon,” she assures. “I’ll be giving them to someone who will help get rid of them.”

“Because don’t want to summon Twebble Debble,” Rig says. “Or whoever else.”

“I thought it was Tweedle Beedle,” Nick says from where he’s organizing the other 42 books they picked up.

“Twine Man,” Echo adds, carrying another two of the eldritch books to her room.

“Twine and Dine,” Rig nods. “Twen Ten Ten and twenty more.”

“Don’t go through all twenty more,” Nick chuckles. “You want to help organize these? Echo and Deacon picked up more than expected.” He looks over and spies Rig eyeing the stack of tomes again. “Hey, don’t worry about those. Echo has it covered.”

“...Okay,” Rig says. He walks over to the shelves Nick is organizing. “By author, title, size, color?”

Nick gives him a look. “Who’s organizing books by size or color?”

Rig grimaces. “One of my professors was banned from volunteering at the library for a reason...”

“...By author.”

“Great.” Rig picks up a book and squints at the name. _PI Psyche: Cult of the Old Ones._ He stares a moment and then shakes his head and finds where to put it on the shelf.

Once all the books are in their new homes, Rig slips off to his room to write while Nick goes to his and Echo’s room and finds her waiting. She grins at him and twirls a pair of handcuffs around her finger.

Nick gets the idea and shuts the door.

A little later, Deacon slips back into Echo’s home, noting the sounds coming from Echo’s room as he passes on the way to his and Rig’s. Rig sits on their bed, journal in his lap and pen in his mouth as he stares down at his words. Deacon knocks on the door and Rig looks up from his journal. “Hey. I don’t want to worry you, but something came up with that _other_ job I told you I have. I’ll be gone a few days, maybe more...”

“Oh,” Rig says. “Just— Poof, gone?”

“Well,” Deacon hums. “I wouldn’t say _poof,_ gone. I can stick around for a few minutes, give you some quality Deacon time before I skedaddle. Some last minute snuggles before I leave you to fend for yourself like the big boy you are.” Deacon sniffs and wipes away an invisible tear. “They grow up so fast...”

Rig stares up at him and glances down to his journal again. “Um... So— So one of the things I told you was... Brother’s name, right...?”

“...Yeah?” Deacon cocks his head, watching Rig carefully. “What about it...?”

“You know why I’d confuse his name for my dead one, right?” Rig asks. “Is that obvious...?”

“...Sounds alike?” Deacon guesses.

“Nicknames do,” Rig says. “And it’s— You know I trust you, right?”

“Still?” Deacon asks. “After what I tried to pull before?”

“Yes,” Rig frowns. “S’why I... told you the name you know is my brother’s. Because... If you know _that_ name, you might could be able to use it to find the other. But I’m trusting you not to do that. I— I don’t know what might be out there about _him._ I never looked into it, and I don’t know what lies he’s said about me that made their way up here and survived so long. About a person that legally doesn’t exist. If you’re leaving, for days and times... I wouldn’t be able to stop you if you wanted to look into it, but I’m trusting you not to this time— not without permission.”

“...Yeah,” Deacon says. “You’re that kind of person after all...”

“But,” Rig says. “If you find out by accident... You need to let me know. Never call me that. Never act that name was ever mine. Never act like that person was ever me. But— But tell me so I know you’re actually going to keep it safe. Keep— Keep _me_ safe.”

Deacon leans against the doorway. “Really? And what if I looked it up on purpose but told you it was by accident? You know that’s a thing people do? Lie?”

“I already know _you_ lie,” Rig says. “I’m been never been heck—” He sighs. “Are we dating? Is that a thing we’re doing?”

“...Yes?” Deacon asks.

“For real and for seriously?” Rig asks. “No lies?”

“Not about _that,_ no,” Deacon says. “Soooo, what, you’re saying because _that’s_ true that...?”

“That you truth as much as you lie,” Rig shrugs. “And I can’t tell the difference. So what’s it matter if you lie about how you found the name if’s long as you tell me you found the _right_ name? You...” He sighs. “You’re— one of the few people I trust not to hurt me. But you did. And I should have ‘spected that. Because accidents happen. Mistakes habben. But I’m not going to waste worry on if you’ll hurt me again. Just gonna assume next time it happens, it’s also accident or mistake... It’ll only be a problem if you do it on purpoise— pur— purpose— dolphins... Do it on dolphins. Don’t do that. Don’t do it on dolphins.”

“Okay, _someone_ here is sleepy,” Deacon chuckles. “But— I guess I should really learn to expect _this_ from _you,_ huh...? If this is going to work out. I promise. No dolphins will be harmed while I’m gone the next few days.”

“Good,” Rig nods. “They eat fish and go eeeeee.”

Deacon grins, brow lifting in amusement. “Yeah?”

“Sea— Sea creatures,” Rig continues. “Ocean— Ocean mobsters. Monsters. You know of a kraken?”

“Never met one, no,” Deacon says. _“Leviathans,_ though, I have a few in an address book somewhere...”

“You know the Andromeda myth?” Rig asks. “With the chains and the monsters and things?”

“Mm, can say I heard it before, yeah,” Deacon answers with a small hum. “With Perseus, right?”

Rig lifts his journal and recites the poem he wrote.

_I never wanted to be an Andromeda,_ _  
_ _Chained to rocks as monster feed,_ _  
_ _But neither would I be a Medusa,_ _  
_ _Cursed to be a monster due to crimes against me._

_I don’t want a Perseus to need to save me_ _  
_ _From a position I was forced to take,_ _  
_ _But neither would I want a Perseus to kill me_ _  
_ _For a choice I was not the one to make._

_If my fate is written in these stones,_ _  
_ _With chains to hold a horror’s gaze,_ _  
_ _Then I would rather write my own,_ _  
_ _And call this carved path Apollo Ray’s._

Deacon stares and grins. “Did you say dolphins on porpoise to lead into that?”

Rig giggles. “No, that was because I messed up saying— Oh!! You said a pun!” Rig drops his journal into his lap and claps. “That was good!”

Deacon laughs. “I’m going to miss you so much. I’ll be back as soon as I can, alright? Try not to get in trouble in the meantime.”

“Bye, love you,” Rig waves. “Can I have a hug before you go?”

“Real quick,” Deacon says, holding his arms out. “I can’t keep putting this off.”

Rig rushes over and hugs Deacon, holding tight for a few seconds before letting go. He pauses a moment and kisses Deacon’s cheek. “Be safe. Bye.”

Deacon holds a hand over his cheek where Rig kissed him and grins. “See you when I get back, Firebird. Oh— And give Echo and Nick some space tonight. They’re uh... Gettin’ busy.”

Rig pulls a look but returns to his journal and his writing, and Deacon chuckles and leaves, only pausing to leave a note for Echo to find later. As soon as he’s out the door, his expression changes. Now, he’s on the clock.

Meanwhile, in Echo and Nick’s room, the two of them enjoy a bit of attention from a familiar guest for all he’s a mysterious stranger...

Once they’re finished, Farmer sticks around long enough to help Nick and Echo into bed, with Echo happily holding onto Nick. Nick smiles as well, eyes closed as the bedroom door opens and shuts—

Nick opens his eyes and tries to sit up but Echo holds onto him. “Wait— Why did he leave through the _door—”_

“Nick, lie down,” Echo says. “We’re cuddling.”

“But he doesn’t normally leave through the door—”

“Nick, it’s fine,” Echo sighs. She slides over top of him and kisses him. “Relax.”

Nick sighs and settles down. “Fine...”

Over in Rig’s room, Rig finishes another poem, a smaller one, and frowns as he reads it over.

_I’ve lost my color, my blood’s been spilt_ _  
_ _But a broken kingdom can’t be built_ _  
_ _I will not be chained again, for this plan, or by your hands_ _  
_ _You will sleep for all eternity_ _  
_ _For I’m more of a god than you will ever be_

He sighs and shuts the journal and sets it aside, reaching for Lil’ Deacon to hold _something_ while regular sized Deacon is gone.

Hopefully Deacon’s safe, doing whatever it is he’s doing that evening... And with Nick and Echo busy, he can’t sneak out for a late night noodle run, but he could at the least get a quiet snack from the kitchen. Maybe some tea before bed...

He sets aside Lil’ Deacon and wanders to the kitchen, freezing when he sees a figure standing in the shadows... The figure steps closer, a smile on his face though his eyes are shadowed, and Rig smiles back.

“Oh, hi, Mr. Farmer,” Rig greets. “I was about to make tea. Do you want some?” He waits for a nod before he heads to their supplies to make two cups of tea for the impromptu tea party. Maybe he should get out Fancy Lads too? “Mr. Farmer, do you want some Fancy Lads?”

Farmer shakes his head.

“Okay,” Rig says. “This is different tea than the dream tea. Do you still want it plain?”

Farmer nods.

“Okay, thank you,” Rig says. He gets their cups prepared and slides one over for Farmer before taking a set across from him with his own. “I know that Echo likes this herbal stuff, but I miss black tea. Earl grey was always good... This one’s better adding mutfruit syrup, so I can tolerate it at least...” He looks up from his tea at Farmer who seems to be waiting for his own to cool. “Um... This isn’t dreams, right? This is real...?”

Farmer nods.

“Great, okay,” Rig says. “What are you doing here?”

_Visiting,_ Farmer seems to say. _I wanted to talk with you, Apollo._

“Oh,” Rig hums. “Okay... What— What about...?”

_You’re aware that you’re immortal through unnatural means?_

Rig looks at his arms, turning them to inspect them fully. “Really? Wow, I— Wait, yes.” He lowers his arms again. “Yes, I knew that.”

Farmer tilts his head. _...And you’re aware that your loved ones are_ **_not_ ** _immortal. That you will one day outlive all of them._

“...Oh,” Rig says. “I mean, that’s a tomorrow I don’t tend to think about.”

Farmer lifts his tea to sip it. _Oh?_ he asks while drinking.

“Well, I don’t think about tomorrows in general,” Rig continues. “I have a hard enough time imagining todays. Tomorrow doesn’t exist to me. I know it’ll happen but...” He shrugs. “I don’t. Know how to... feel about that. Sad, probably? I’m supposed to feel sad. I don’t like that, feeling sad. So I’m not going to think about it.”

Farmer raps his fingers on the table in some irregular beat. _What if you didn’t have to live past them? What if I were to give you... let’s call it the opposite of the elixir of life. An elixir of mortality. So that you may one day die like your loved ones and not live past them by millennia._

Rig furrows his brow. “What does it taste like?”

Farmer stops tapping the table. He stares. _...Pardon?_

“Does it taste bitter?” Rig asks. “I don’t like bitter things.”

_...It tastes like... Nuka-Cola?_

“Gross,” Rig says, poking out his tongue. He thinks about it a moment longer and then shakes his head. “Ew. No. I don’t want it.”

Farmer pinches his nose. _Because... of the taste. The taste is your top priority._

“What?” Rig asks. “No. It’s important though. I’m not going to drink things a stranger gives me if it tastes bad.”

_...I see._ Farmer smiles at him. _How predictable would you say you are, Apollo? On a scale of one to ten._

“No,” Rig answers casually. “I wouldn’t.”

_Fair enough._ Farmer chuckles soundlessly and sets down his tea.

“So, you, um.” Rig tilts his head. “The others keep saying you’re eldritch or something. You seem nice. Are— Are you actually nice, or am I just bad at people things again?”

_To be fair,_ Farmer says. _I’m not people. And I wouldn’t say I’m nice. I’m many things, but not quite nice. More wicked, perhaps. Very wicked indeed._

“You seem like people to me,” Rig says. “You’re capable of thinking, you exist, you can interact with the world...”

_Oh?_ Farmer lifts his brow. _And do these traits not apply to you?_

“I don’t exist,” Rig says. “I’m a figment of my own imagination. Created in 1852 by polar explorers...” He pauses and then sips his tea. “I don’t know,” he says when he lowers his mug again. “Apparently they do, but I don’t trust that’s true. But the others get mad whenever I say I’m not people. It’s— S’hard to define peoplehood. Some definitions include too many things, some definitions don’t include enough... I just... don’t see why I have to be one too. S’not like it changes anything. Right?”

_Would it help you, to have others treat you as if you aren’t a person?_

Rig frowns. “Not like it changes anything. Ifs anything, these three are the weird ones, treating me like person— like people. Maybe I am one, but... People already act like I’m not unless I act like they want me to. Who am I s’posed to believe? Nick says I’m wrong, Deacon gets sad about it, I haven’t tried to do that around Echo because she’d get mad and I don’t like making her mad because she gets scary. It’s— It’s scary. World’s scary, always has been, and I’m only alive because imborpal. Don’t even know _how much_ I’m borpal. Stupid— Stupid Transparency. Stupid Ambrosia.” He slumps and snorts. “Why’s it that I survived and no one else did? If it really was that thing they did before...”

Farmer leans forward, and his expression darkens. Rig blinks and sits up to lean back. Farmer reaches towards him. _“T̸̞͛h̴̩́ā̷̺t̸̫̾'̴̼̉s̵̲̀ ̵͚̍ẅ̶͕́ḥ̴̏a̶̧͂t̷̖̾ ̷̿ͅI̸̥͑ ̵̼̓w̸̩͠ḁ̷͠n̵̙̾t̴̼͌ ̵̜̔ẗ̶̼́o̶̻͗ ̷̻͝k̴͈̾n̴̗̈o̸̰͑w̶̓ͅ...”_

“Ohhhh,” Rig utters softly as he continues to pull away from Farmer. “That’s nice sounds...”

_“S̶̜̽i̸̫̔t̷̝͆ ̴̮͂s̸͔̐t̸̞͗ĩ̵̙l̸̤̈́l̶̖̕,”_ Farmer orders, climbing onto the table as Rig gets up to back away. _“S̵t̸o̸p̵ ̸m̴o̸v̷i̷n̶g̶ ̷a̷w̴a̵y̷.̵”_

“What are you doing?” Rig asks. “I thought you said this wasn’t dreams?”

_“C̵o̸m̷e̴ ̴h̷e̵r̸e̴.̵”_ After a moment, Farmer adds. _“P̷l̴e̷a̶s̸e̵.̶ I’m not going to hurt you. I know better than that.”_

Rig tilts his head. “Voice is a weird color. Trying to— To place it.” He steps forward and gingerly holds out his hand.

Farmer takes hold of it, and Rig blinks as his vision fills with colorful sparks and vertigo. Through the sparks he can make out Farmer’s face, a voice speaking, a familiar shade of blue...

Rig’s blue. That bright, vibrant blue, electric and poisonous. The same blue Farmer was speaking in just a moment ago.

“Oh,” Rig says, loosening his grip for all that Farmer continues to hold his hand. “I don’t like this,” he decides.

Farmer lets go. It takes a moment, but Rig’s vision clears, but Farmer is gone and Rig is left standing next to the table with two unfinished cups of tea on it.

He sighs, and gathers up both cups, pours one into the other, and takes the full cup back to his room.

Whatever information Farmer got from that, Rig’s not certain he wants to know.

Rig sits on his bed, sips his tea, and then smiles a bit.

Things are a bit more colorful now. Maybe he doesn’t need NEO-74 for clarity after all.


	15. You Know, Barnacles? Those Things That Stick to Boats and Weigh Them Down?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rig gets some tea, shares some worries, and talks about a terrible riddle. Deacon meets up with an asshole.

Rig makes breakfast the next morning, waking up before Nick and Echo for the first time in a long while. He gets the kettle ready for tea and checks their supply.

...That tin wasn’t there the night before. He picks it up and opens it, blinking at the familiar sight of dark, dried leaves and the fresh scent of citrus and something he can’t quite place... Complete with a little note in the lid that he opens up and reads.

> _ An apology for last night. Courtesy of the Wilson Estate. _
> 
> _ -Farmer _

It’s tea. It’s black tea. It’s not quite Earl Grey, but by the smell of it, it should be good. Rig grins and giggles and hurries to ready a cup for himself and one of Echo’s favorite herbal mix for her. He’s still giggling as Echo and Nick wander in for breakfast.

“What are you laughing about?” Nick asks.

“I got a gift,” Rig says. “I got— It’s tea. I got tea. Mr. Farmer gave me tea.”

Nick looks to Rig’s mug. “Uh— Are you sure it’s safe?”

“If this kills me, it’ll be worth it,” Rig answers.

Echo snorts. “Sounds right. Where’s Deeks?”

“He had to do a thing,” Rig says. He points at the note tacked to the side. “I think that’s for you.”

“Ah,” Echo says. “Right, he probably had a  _ job _ to do...” She takes the note and reads it and hums. “Yep. Just the three of us for a while.”

“Oh, shame,” Nick deadpans. “Whatever will we do without him.” He shakes his head. “And we were about to have our first day back at the office too.”

Rig sets out the plates of food and sits down with his own and his cup of tea. “So... You two were... doing stuff last night.”

Nick’s cheeks turn blue and his sputters. Echo nearly chokes on her tea.

“Uh... Yeah?” Echo asks. “What about it?”

“Do you... want more privacy?” Rig asks. “To— To do that stuff. I know you let me stay with you, but, um... I was thinking about if you... wanted me and Deacon to find another place? I’ve been saving up in case there’s somewhere else I could afford—”

Nick clears his throat. “Actually, Echo and I were talking about that... Now that I moved in with Echo, my old apartment above the Agency is vacant. I was going to offer it to you and Deacon, but we were waiting for...”

“We wanted to keep an eye on you in case Ninety snuck into Diamond City,” Echo says. “It’d be hard for him to, but if he did then he’s sure to cause a scene. As soon as we know it’s safe for you, you can move out.” She chuckles. “Trust me, I would  _ love _ to have my place back and kick you two freeloaders out.”

Rig frowns. “I can pay rent in the meantime—”

“I mean that lovingly,” Echo corrects. She hums. “But since Ninety ran off... If we don’t hear from him by the end of the month, maybe we’ll go ahead and move you out.”

“...What about Delphi?” Rig asks.

“What  _ about _ Delphi?” Nick asks.

“They were...” Rig furrows his brow. “I think they were looking for the books Echo took... I— bluh— When we were Pleasantview. Had a... weird dream ‘bout a Xan and an Ozymandias and wasp-p-p... p’things... They— Dream said that...” He tilts his head. “They think I’m someone’s son...? Some— Some ‘old god’ that went to Delphi but doesn’t want to help them. Words and things and colors I don’t remember. Purple and p’white.”

“Well,” Echo says. “Sucks to be them. I already gave those books to Farmer and he’s not going to let them have them.”

“I don’t like this,” Rig says. “I know it’s Halloween month and monsters and spookums and things, but I... What’s things so weird about? I don’t rember it being like this before the bombs.”

“There was more technology around then,” Echo says. “More lives. A lot of static and chatter drowning out ghosts and gods. Now, after all the traumatic things over the years, with less static blocking things out...”

“There’s still static,” Rig says. “Static faces. Xan, Ozy, Mr. Gray.”

Echo grimaces. “We don’t need to talk about that last one.”

Rig blinks. “Okay.” He looks at his tea, almost afraid to take a sip in case it isn’t what he’s expecting— well, it’ll never be an Earl Grey, so it won’t ever be what he’s expecting... But if it’s still good...

He takes a sip. He pulls a face and furrows his brow. Weird tang to it... He hums and takes another sip.

Still better than bloodbug.

“So do we have to worry about Delphi finding us?” Nick asks. “We don’t have those books they’re after, but we  _ do _ have Rig... And they know what he looks like now.”

Echo hums. “You don’t normally have dreams like that, right Rig?”

Rig nods. “Only started having them after meeting Mr. Farmer.”

“Then I think Farmer’s pulling strings,” Echo says. “Giving his  _ son _ here some proper warnings before things happen.”

Rig gasps. “Noooo, I  _ am _ his son? How? Why? Is that what Nick wanted to find out at Transparency??? I have two dads????”

“You’re  _ not _ his son,” Nick says. “I refuse to believe that.”

“Great!” Rig says. “Good! I can live with that! I don’t want  _ two _ dads! I didn’t even want the first one!”

“...Hey,” Nick frowns.

“I meant my mom’s husband!”

“Ah— Yeah, he  _ was _ an ass from what I can tell...”

Echo laughs.  _ “Gods, _ you two really are related.” She shakes her head. “Well, even if the cult knows to find you in Diamond City, they won’t exactly have an easy time harassing you between the guards and the two of us. And Deacon whenever he comes back.”

“...How long do you think it’ll take him to come back?” Rig asks.

“Depends on how long this job takes. Maybe a week, maybe a month, maybe more.”

“Hmm.”

Echo looks at Rig as he frowns and pokes at his breakfast. “Hey. It’ll be okay. He won’t be gone forever, I promise.”

Rig glances up at her. “...I’m allowed to worry about him, right?”

“Of course. You don’t need  _ permission _ for that.”

“Okay...” Rig sighs. “I just... want him to come back in time for Halloween. First one awake in six hundred years...”

“212,” Nick corrects. “But you were close.”

“579,” Rig says. “But, I just... Gotta wait, I guess... Even if it takes a month...”

* * *

October 23rd rolls into the Commonwealth with the reminder that it’s been 212 years since the end of the world. It’s not the kind of thing he’d think to celebrate, especially with more fun holidays right around the corner, but this year sits a bit different...

The anniversary of the bombs falling is the anniversary of the day Apollo Ray’s life changed for good. The day Apollo ran for the railroad tracks to enter a vault that would curse him to immortality and cause him to wake up to an unfamiliar world with unfamiliar dangers.

A world with psykers, synths, and of course, liars. The one constant between then and now. No wonder Rig would fall for someone a bit more familiar than anyone else around.

Deacon can’t help but wonder if Rig’s doing alright on his own in Diamond City. Well, not that Echo or Nick would let him out of their sights. He can count on them for that. Keeping his defenseless, weak, lovable idiot of a boyfriend safe while he, a skilled, strong, just as charming man with an idiot facade, goes around doing a few deliveries for the Railroad.

He still isn’t sure just how Rig managed to win him over so quickly, so easily, after years of putting up walls to prevent getting close to someone he might just lose. But then again, Echo already tricked him into lowering his defenses, just a smidge. Rig coming in, ignorant but well meaning, armed with a battering ram of words and a bizarre form of logic, shouldn’t be surprising that he could knock the rest of those defenses down. Rig accepting that he lies and not trying to change that is a bonus, and the difficulties he has pinpointing what Rig will do next is just the same high of anticipation any gambler feels waiting for the outcome.

He can’t count the times he wanted to run. The times he  _ did _ run. But he keeps coming back because something about Rig is addicting, like a drug that under normal circumstances he’d avoid like ferals, be it the desire to protect him, the mysteries he can’t quite crack, or the fact that Rig, against all odds, loves  _ him _ too.

Look at him, Deacon thinks. He’s getting sentimental after only a few weeks away. It’d be nice to be there, with Rig, see how he’s dealing with it being officially 212 years since everything changed...

But he has one more package to deliver before his “time off” to masquerade as a detective in Diamond City. One that’s waiting for pick-up at the Mercer Safehouse in Hangman’s Alley...

“Open sesame,” he mutters as he makes his way inside. A quick chat with the folks working there, and then one of them leads him to the package.

“Oh,  _ fuck _ no,” the synth in question utters upon seeing him.

And Deacon can’t blame him. He’s not too happy about this either.

“Hey, long time no see!” Deacon greets as if this is an old friend of his and nothing more. “Still going by Ninety, or are you going by another name?”

“Get away from me,” Ninety growls.

“That’s a weird name,” Deacon hums. “Well, Frummy, I’m sure you want to get out of the Commonwealth asap, so—”

“No,” Ninety says. “No, no, no.”

Deacon raises his hands in defense. “Suit yourself. I’ve got other places I could be if you wanted to change your mind about leaving.”

“No, shut up,” Ninety growls. “Do you know how long it took me to find you? And  _ you, _ of all people, are the one to— Is this a trap? Is this a trick? Did  _ Apollo _ put you up to this?”

Deacon tilts his head. “You know, you’re lucky it  _ is _ me putting up with your BS. If it were Bullseye? Let’s just say her codename is apt, and  _ you _ have a shiny target right on your forehead.” He points a finger gun and “shoots” it. “Bang.  _ Bullseye.” _

“...Fine,” Ninety spits out. “If it  _ has _ to be you. This is a death sentence either way. You’re just going to kill me when my back is turned.”

“Funny,” Deacon grins. “I was about to say the same to you about me. Maybe we’re not so different after all, you and I. Just two men, mutually worried about backstabbing... Sounds like the start of a  _ real _ sexy spy romance novel.”

“...What the hell does he see in you?” Ninety groans. “It's not even been two minutes and I can tell you’re the most insufferable man alive.”

“You looking at a mirror, buddy?” Deacon chuckles. “Hey, come on, I’m on your side, surprisingly. It’s my  _ job _ to get you to the next drop-off safe and sound, and unlike  _ certain _ people in this conversation I could name,  _ I _ can be professional. Why don’t we put our differences aside so we both get what we want: you out of the Commonwealth and away from  _ Rig.” _

Ninety looks away, scowling and hands twitching as he barely restrains himself from doing  _ something _ unsavory. Deacon watches, body tensing as he readies to defend himself if need be...

“Fine,” Ninety spits out, and he stands. “Fine. I hate him and I hate you, but if it gets me out of here, then fine.”

“Sweet,” Deacon chuckles. “And if you’re a good boy and do what I tell you to keep both our asses safe, maybe I’ll give you some Fancy Lads. Now c’mon, while things are still clear.”

Ninety grumbles but follows along with Deacon’s orders. Deacon keeps him in sight as they go.

There’s no telling if and when Ninety’s backstabbing will turn literal, after all.

* * *

Nick types up a report on his latest solved case while Rig works on reorganizing files into a newly acquired filing cabinet, a long-needed addition to the office given how much trouble even Ellie had opening and closing the drawers with the number of files in there. It’s just Nick and Rig around, with Deacon still gone and Echo having been “kidnapped” by Ellie and Piper for a long needed “Girl’s Night” which Dogmeat seems to be chaperoning.

“...So, Rig,” Nick starts.

“Yeah?” Rig asks, glancing up from his alphabetizing.

“You notice what day it is at all?”

“The 23rd?” Rig tilts his head in question. “What about it...?”

“...The bombs?”

“Oh!” Rig furrows his brow. “Yeah? That was today?”

“212 years ago, officially,” Nick says. “The day you ran to Vault 113 and made it in time to survive the war.”

“I wasn’t supposed to be there,” Rig says. “Only because Rig rigged the raffle at work... But never would have met you and Echo and Dogmeat and Deacon if he hadn’t...” He shakes his head. “That’s sad to think about. I don’t want to think about that.”

“I’m glad Deacon thought to bring you here,” Nick smiles. “It’s been nice having family around.”

“...I want to ask you something.”

“Yeah?”

“...I’ll ask it as soon as I remember what it is.”

Nick rolls his eyes. “Right. You do that.”

“I mean, I know what it is,” Rig says. “I just don’t remember  _ how _ I was going to ask. Might be rude if I ask wrong, or— not rude but... painful? I guess...?”

“...Well.” Nick turns his chair towards Rig. “I know you don’t mean it to be hurtful.”

“That’s the word,” Rig nods.

“So, why don’t you ask it anyway?”

“...Well.” Rig sighs. “How much... How much did you want Uncle Nick’s family to be  _ your _ family because they weren’t even Uncle Nick’s family...?”

Nick squints. “...You lost me.”

“Because I never met him,” Rig says. “Brother never met him. Mom only called on occasion but never saw him in person for decades. We weren’t close enough to him to be called  _ family, _ outside of blood relations. But we’re family without blood ‘lations, not only because of  _ him _ but in spite of him, right? I mean, you don’t even use his actual name.”

“Wait, what?” Nick blinks. “Because I go by Nick and not Nicolas?”

Rig wrinkles his nose. “...Valentino?”

“...It’s Valentine, isn’t it?”

“No?” Rig tilts his head. “Shouldn’t be. Mom’s maiden name was Valentino. I mean, unless Uncle Nick changed it, or people just did that whole thing where they refuse to call someone the right name because it’s not a white person name... They did that with mom’s first name, since it was a Filipino name...”

Nick stares at him for a long,  _ long _ moment before uttering a single “Damn.”

Rig blinks. “Yeah...?”

“...Come to think of it,” Nick says. “I  _ did _ notice a lot of time Nicolas was spelled with an H when I’m certain it’s not supposed to have an H...”

“...Please don’t change your name if you don’t want to.”

“Nothing to worry about,” Nick answers, raising his hands in peace. “Personally, I like having the extra degree of separation, even if it’s embarrassing to admit I got the name wrong and didn’t realize until now.” He clears his throat and adjusts his tie. “Maybe... Don’t tell anyone about that little slip-up.”

Rig grins. “Alright. Promise I won’t.”

“As for your actual question,” Nick says. “I know I used to think a lot how nice it would be to have a family. And I had noticed how even the old Nick never had much time for  _ his _ family, so it was easier to think of his as mine since he had barely any more connection to them than I did. Having you here, now... It being something  _ I _ get to have for myself and not connected to him, aside from coincidence?” He smiles. “It’s a good feeling.”

“...Is that why you don’t want to share with Mr. Farmer?”

Nick frowns. “...Perhaps.”

Rig nods. “I haven’t seen him since we got back from Pleasantview... No more weird dreams. Just the usual nonsensical ones, the occasional nightmare, sometimes Mr. Gray stopping by for more tea... It’s— It’s nice. I feel like I’m awake again, but not as miserable as before.”

Nick hums. “I think there might be a reason for that...”

“...Yeah?” Rig asks.

“Rig, how dependent on caffeine were you before the war...?”

“...Um.”

“You have that black tea now, don’t you?” Nick chuckles. “And that has caffeine in it. Goodness, all this time you only needed a caffeine boost. We ought to find where the Stranger got that tea from and keep you stocked.”

“Wilson Estate, I think?” Rig rubs his neck. “...That’s all I needed? Caffeinated tea? Huh.” He smiles. “Okay. I can live with that. If it means more tea.”

“You really like that stuff, huh?”

Rig nods. “Comfort drink. Better than alcohol.”

“I’ll say.” Nick stands up and motions at the door. “What do you say about calling it an early night? And tomorrow I can see if anyone knows anything about a Wilson Estate to see if we can get you a steady supply of tea.”

Rig giggles. “And it’s not even my birthday yet. Okay, sure.”

The two of them lock up the office for the night and head through the streets of Diamond City.

“You thought about how you’ll decorate when you move out with Deacon yet?” Nick asks.

“Plastic lawn flamingo,” Rig says.

“Oh? Staying on brand, huh?”

Rig nods. “Gonna hang it on the wall. Removed from its natural habitat.”

Nick rolls his eyes. “Sure.”

“And I want a clock,” Rig continues. “Doesn’t have to work— Maybe better if it doesn’t work. I like how they look.”

“Alright. Anything else? Furniture maybe?”

“Hmm...” Rig taps his lips in thought. “A bed, maybe? I think I’d like a bed. Mattress on the floor isn’t that nice. Oh, and a desk— I’d love a desk.”

“You want a bookshelf?” Nick asks. “For all your books and magazines that have those Apollo Ray poems in them?”

“Ohh, that’d be nice.”

“Maybe even a small dining table  _ and _ a couple of chairs.”

“Yeah!” Rig looks skyward and sighs. “...Yeah.”

Nick hums. “Something wrong...?”

“It’s all... Domestic, isn’t it?” Rig asks. “Just— Having my own place to share with Deacon. It’s... It’s what the old Rig Miller wanted with Apollo Ray. What the old Rig Miller never got, since I never wanted to be  _ with _ him, I just needed a place to live and was willing to be a housekeeper to do it. ‘Househusband’ was only ever a game of pretend because games  _ end. _ I don’t even know if he knew about me. About why I knew his friend Ricki.”

“You never told him?” Nick asks.

“I couldn’t,” Rig says. “I never trusted him enough to. Only people who knew were Transparency and anyone who worked on my case and no one else. You three are the only ones I ever told.”

“And you trusted us so quickly,” Nick points out. “You lived with the old Rig for years.”

“Different world, different morals...” Rig shrugs. “Better people, who knew I was lying but let me lie until I was ready to tell the truth. It just... If Angle lived. I don’t know if I ever would have told him. I wouldn’t want to stay with him. So I probably wouldn’t ever tell him. It’s just...”

“Yeah?” Nick asks.

“...I’m allowed not to be sad he’s dead, right?”

“After how he’s treated you? Of course.”

“...And one day I’ll lose all of you,” Rig says. “And I don’t know if I’ll be sad then.”

Nick stops in his tracks, and Rig continues several paces before turning around and waiting for Nick. “...Is that so?” Nick asks from his place a few feet away. “You’ll live past us and you won’t feel sad about that?”

“I don’t know if I will,” Rig corrects. “Right now, thinking about losing everyone is upsetting. I don’t like thinking about it. But when it actually happens... If I’m going to live forever... I think I can understand why you don’t like Mr. Farmer. Person like that, who lives so long that every other life around him isn’t important anymore, that it doesn’t matter what happens to those lives... If that’s me one day, then I’m sorry.”

“That’s not going to be you,” Nick says. “We’ll figure something out.”

Rig rubs his arm. “...Do you want to hear a poem?”

Nick sighs. He walks up to Rig and the two of them start walking again. “Let’s hear it.”

“Two hundred and twelve trips around the sun.” Rig sighs. “And I, named Apollo, lay asleep for every one. I remember hearing sirens in the distance, fear on the radio. I ran out to the railway tracks and left behind a world I didn’t know. And now I’m living here, wide awake, with the sun setting in the sky. In a world where dust can’t settle and I can never die. I’ve jumbled all my history to pull facts from deviled hands. Spouting out these words for the death of gods and sacred plans.”

Rig starts counting on his fingers. “It takes one bomb to raze a country. Two: a dress it wore. Three: the science seems so pretty when you’re not the one it’s meant for. All these liars with their secrets, white and hot and through one’s teeth. Five: there’s something stranger living in the ichor underneath. Two hundred and twelve: I’m finally awake. If poison cannot kill me then what would it take to break my heart and cause me sorrow? The mystery of tomorrow. If I live past everything, how much of me will hollow?”

Nick wraps an arm around Rig’s shoulder and tugs him close. “You know, I’ve asked that a few times over the years myself. It’s not worth it to waste your time worrying about it when there’s so much happening in the here and now to worry about.”

“Do you ever regret things turning out this way?” Rig asks. “What happened with Uncle Nick to lead to you, everything that happened to you to lead to now?”

“...I used to,” Nick answers. “Not all the time, but every now and then I’d think how if things were different maybe I’d be better off. But now? I do good work to help people. I have people who care about me. I have Echo who is a better gal than I could have ever dreamt of having. Maybe it’d be better if  _ some _ things went differently, but given this is what we’ve got and there’s no changing the past? I can’t complain about what I’ve got now.”

“It’s all butterflies,” Rig says. “I don’t— I like this better than what I had before. Than what I ever had before I went to that vault. I’m just... I can’t imagine there being a tomorrow, you know that?”

Nick glances down at him, cautious. “No...?”

“Like, literally,” Rig clarifies. “I know that, feasibly, there’s a tomorrow. But time— Time isn’t real. I told Mr. Farmer this— something like this. It’s hard to ground myself in what’s happening  _ today, _ caffeine or not. I don’t remember what happened yesterday, I have trouble being in the present, and the future feels like it won’t ever happen, but then I wake up and it’s over two hundred years in the future and... I never even had a five year plan.”

Rig looks up at Nick. “When I went to PITS, I went there mainly to get away from home. I didn’t have a plan for what I’d do once I graduated, I never planned to never go home, I never planned to become Apollo Ray. I’ve been— I’ve been coasting on the present without enough thought of what will happen the next year all my life. Is that fine? Is that allowed? When another two hundred years might go by— When another  _ month _ goes by— I don’t know where I’ll be or what I’ll do because I never thought I’d live past eighteen and now I’ve jumped into the future without even realizing and I turn 35 in December and I don’t have a plan, I’m just trying not to get hurt. But if I live past all of you, and I don’t know myself well enough to know if I’ll become someone you’d hate after you’re gone...”

“You won’t,” Nick assures. “That’s not the kind of person you are.”

“It can be,” Rig answers. “The right propa-panda. A ganda— gander— Goose. Geese eggs. I don’t know what a goose egg is.”

“...You mean a zero?”

“...Oh.” Rig hums. “So... if you have one zero... You have two.”

Nick squints. “...Wait, was that a binary joke?”

Rig grins and nods. “Yeah.”

Nick sighs. “Are we still having a serious conversation, or are you trying to change the subject because you’re uncomfortable?”

“...Yes.”

“Well, look,” Nick says. “Maybe I don’t know for sure where you’ll be in two hundred years. Hell, I hardly know where  _ I’ll _ be. But it’s okay if you’re not ready to think about that. Coasting got you here, didn’t it? You must be doing  _ something _ right.” He smiles. “Besides, you already said you have caps saved up. You’re planning ahead, just in more tangible ways. And beyond that, having a five year plan isn’t feasible anymore. Not when everything can turn on its head at a moment’s notice. Raiders, deathclaws, you name it. Everything can go sideways when you least expect it, that planning five years ahead isn’t as useful as planning for the immediate future.”

“...Okay,” Rig says. “...Can I tell another binary joke...?”

Nick sighs but smiles. “Sure.”

“Hmm...” Rig furrows his brow as he thinks. “Well. I would, but I can’t zero in on one.”

Nick snorts and laughs. “Rig, that’s terrible.”

Rig beams. “Yep!”

“How many binary jokes do you have?”

“11 of them.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, that was the last of them.”

Nick chuckles. “Alright, you rascal, that was clever. But are you feeling better at all? Still worried about the future?”

“I mean.” Rig shrugs. “Still worried, but less worried, I guess? Feeling better, thanks.”

“Any time.”

They make their way back into Echo’s home. Rig stands by the door, a look of contemplation on his face. Nick looks back at him and frowns.

“Alright,” Nick says. “What’s wrong this time?”

“It’s been 212 years, you said?”

“Yeah?”

“...I, um...” Rig sighs. “So, my parents and brother probably... died 212 years ago.”

“...Ah.”

“Is it bad if I’m not sad about that?”

Nick takes a step closer. “Rig—”

“Is it bad if I am?” Rig groans. “I don’t even think I am. I think I’m only upset it’s too late for closure and it’s gonna be a ghost rattling it’s chains at me forever now.”

“...I don’t know,” Nick admits. “What kind of closure do you want? An apology so you can forgive them?”

“No,” Rig says. “I shouldn’t have to forgive them. Forgive and forget is not a thing I do for people who hurt me and never wanted to stop. Why should I have to? Apologies mean nothing if the mem’ries are still there. Doesn’t take away what they put me through and were never sorry for before. I’m better off that they never tried to look for me. That I could leave them behind.”

Nick frowns. “Then what  _ do _ you want?”

Rig sighs. “It’s just... They never even  _ tried _ to look for me after I ran. How am I supposed to know if they cared? Maybe they let me leave since they knew it was better for me, or maybe they were glad to be rid of me, but it’s too long ago and too far away to do anything ‘bout it. I don’t want to forgive them and I don’t want answers. I want to be able to forget them like I forgot their faces and not keep having trauma and nightmares about it even after so long. I want to be able to move on. That’s closure. Being able to close that book and shelve it and leave it to dust without it coming back into my narrative when I least expect it.”

Nick sighs. “Yeah, I... I can understand that. If only there were a therapist you could talk to...”

“You know, I didn’t actually remember what Mom looked like until I found your photo of her?” Rig finally steps away from the door to make himself some tea. Nick follows as Rig keeps rambling as he prepares his cup. “I can’t remember my dad’s face or my brother’s. But I—” He wrinkles his nose. “I think... that’s normal for me. I just. Don’t remember everything. I don’t know what you or Echo or Deacon look like when I’m not looking at your faces. You know that? At the casino, someone was flirting with me but they asked who I was with and I couldn’t think of what you or Echo look like.”

Nick blinks and points at his eyes. “You couldn’t remember  _ this _ mug? Honestly?”

“I know you wear a hat,” Rig says, looking down. “You have. Eyes.”

“What color?”

“Um...”

“What color did you say you associate with me?”

“...Yellow?”

“Why do you think that is?”

“...Yellow,” Rig repeats. “On... black? Gray? Dark gray? ...Light black?”

“Light black is just dark gray, Rig.”

“Dark gray then.”

“What color is my skin?”

“Crunchy.”

Nick makes an offended choking sound. “Rig!”

Rig pouts. “It’s crunchy! You look crunchy!”

_ “Crunchy isn’t a color, Rig.” _

Rig groans. “Uhhh it’s. Weird beige? Like if someone took antique white walls and put years of cigarette smoke on it.”

Nick flattens his brow. “You know how to make someone feel handsome, don’t you?”

Rig pouts again, this time glaring up at Nick. “Deacon’s body isn’t a thing that I like a lot about him for a  _ reason. _ Faces and bodies don’t in’trest me. I can fake it for a pom but if you want me to just describe you when I already have enough trouble visualizing you...”

Nick sighs. “Alright then. Write a poem about how one of us looks. Echo maybe?”

“Love poems for your girlfriend cost extra.”

“Not a love poem,” Nick clarifies. “One you’d make for her as a friend.”

Rig furrows his brow and sips his tea. He licks a drop of tea off his lips and then wipes them on the back of his wrist. “I dunno... She already gets mad at me for something I don’t remember telling her... I can’t ask her about her because apparently I told her not to tell me about her? I don’t want to make a metaphor about her looks she might not like...”

“...Wait.” Nick eyes Rig curiously. “You don’t  _ know _ when you told her that?”

“She keeps saying I did,” Rig says. “So I figured I did by accident but she gets mad at me when I make casual observations about her even when I’m not actually asking about her so I’ve just... Agreed with her that I don’t want to know... Because it’s less scary than trying to argue and risk making her mad at me—” He winces and starts to speak a bit faster. “I like her, but she makes me too scared to tell her I didn’t mean not to tell me anything— I don’t know her well enough to know if that’s safe to do— I’ve seen her beat up people or kill them or— Brother used to hurt me just for disagreeing that I didn’t do a thing he was convinced I did— I just don’t want to be hurt—”

“Rig, stop,” Nick interjects. “Take a deep breath and set down that tea before you hurt yourself.” Once Rig does as told, Nick shakes his head. “She’s not going to hurt you. I promise. You need to talk with her, but you don’t need to worry about her hurting you. If she intended to hurt you, she would have done it by now. You would have been out of here ages ago if she didn’t want to  _ try _ being better friends with you.”

“I’m just scared,” Rig winces. “I don’t know what I said that I said wrong that she took it wrong, but just went with it for so long— I made a mistake and everytime she snaps at me when I’m just  _ saying things, _ it just— I get scared that  _ I’m _ not allowed to talk. I know I did something wrong but I’m not allowed to correct it...”

“No, you are,” Nick assures. “And you’re going to. You both are going to talk to each other and figure out this misunderstanding, and I promise that she won’t intentionally hurt you.” He sighs when Rig looks away. “Look. I’ll talk to her tonight when she gets home, tell her what you told me, and tomorrow, I’ll give the two of you some space to talk it over with each other. Understand?”

Rig sighs and nods. “Y— Yeah, I... I’m still scared, though.”

“It’ll be fine,” Nick says. “It’s damn well overdue, and you two will be better for it. Just...  _ think _ about what you plan to say before you actually say it.”

“...Yeah.” Rig picks up his tea. “I’ll be in my room...”

“Rig, you need to eat something first.”

“...Oh, food exists.”

Nick sighs and shakes his head. “What are we going to do with you...?”

* * *

“Hey—  _ Hey.” _ Ninety groans, sluggish and slow as he trails behind Deacon. “Can we stop? We’ve been walking all day.”

“Awww,” Deacon laughs. “You’re already tired? Really?”

“Yeah?” Ninety frowns. “We’ve been  _ walking _ all  _ day. _ Why wouldn’t I be tired?”

“I dunno,” Deacon hums. “I guess I’m just used to  _ others _ I’ve helped deliver having more endurance...”

Ninety scowls. “I wasn’t exactly... Built the same way...”

Deacon tilts his head, expression unreadable behind his sunglasses in the darkness of night. “We’re almost at a safe place to stop if you can hold out long enough.”

“Which means it’s probably another hour away,” Ninety snorts.

“Well, if  _ you _ want to hang out in the middle of  _ deathclaw mating grounds _ then be my guest.”

Ninety winces and darts his eyes around. “...Wait, is  _ that _ the lie or...?”

Deacon grins. “Want to stick around and find out?”

“No!” Ninety scowls and picks up his pace. “Fine, fine, let’s get going.”

A bit of walking later, and Deacon ushers Ninety into a secluded structure with a railsign drawn on the front. Ninety collapses on the nearest flat surface, and Deacon stands watch, both looking for threats and making sure Ninety won’t be one.

“I hate this,” Ninety groans. “It’s  _ night. _ I’m not supposed to be tired at  _ night.” _

“Oh?” Deacon asks, head tilted up. “You worked nightshift, then?”

“What do you think?” Ninety snaps at him. “I worked at a  _ nightclub. _ I didn’t have to be up until the evening and then I could sleep during the day. I hate being out in the sun. Too bright.”

“Pfft,” Deacon grins. “Ironic. The guy chasing after  _ Apollo _ is  _ nocturnal.” _

“...Shut up,” Ninety grumbles. He watches Deacon shrug and pull out a cigarette to smoke and then furrows his brow as he thinks something over. “...How many synths have you worked with...?”

“Anywhere between one and more than one.”

“Asshole,” Ninety scowls. “I’m being serious. How much do you know about synths?”

Deacon shrugs. “I picked up a few facts here and there...”

“...Is it normal for synths to need to sleep?”

“...Define  _ normal.” _

Ninety sighs. “I... sleep. I get tired, I get hungry, I’m pretty sure I got  _ sick _ a few times. I’ve heard  _ rumors _ but I never met another Gen 3 synth. After all, if the Institute knew I existed,  _ the Pits _ would have gotten their toys taken away and I’d be killed. I know I’m a  _ bootleg, _ but I don’t know how  _ badly _ they made me. Sometimes I wonder if I actually  _ am _ a synth.”

“...Yeah,” Deacon hums. “That’s. Hmm. Neato.”

“It’s not  _ neato,” _ Ninety scowls. “I  _ hate _ it. I wasn’t  _ supposed _ to be made, I was made  _ wrong, _ and I was made with the intent to  _ scrap _ me the moment the Pits got what they wanted and made better synths to show up the Institute.”

“Right,” Deacon says. “And that’s why you did what they wanted and brought Rig to them when they wanted to use Rig to make those better synths.”

“Shut up,” Ninety growls. “I couldn’t  _ not.” _

“You sure?” Deacon asks. “Considering how you had the free will to  _ kill _ everyone there, I don’t see why you had to follow their orders to bring Apollo there.”

“I didn’t have a choice,” Ninety says. “If I hadn’t—”

“Yeah?”

“...Shut up.”

Deacon sighs and shakes his head. “And here I thought we were having a genuine heart to heart. A real bonding moment. I was about to break out the tissues and start talking about my childhood and everything.” When Ninety doesn’t answer, Deacon smiles and motions at his cheek. “So, what’s the story behind that scar, huh? I’ve seen photos of the original Rig. Don’t think  _ that _ was a feature the two of you shared...”

Ninety feels the scar on his cheek and furrows his brow. “...Accident with our bassist.”

“The big guy, right? Obtuse?”

“Yes...” Ninety grimaces. “String snapped during practice and... startled me... and I was holding something  _ sharp _ at the time...”

Deacon grins. “You keep hurting yourself with your own knife, don’t you?”

“Shut up.”

Deacon sighs. “One step forward,  _ ninety _ steps back, isn’t it?” He motions vaguely. “Look, you wanted to get some rest. We need to get moving again soon as possible, so you might want to focus on sleeping for at least a couple of hours.”

“...You’ll just kill me in my sleep.”

“I mean, if you want to get back to walking...”

“Fine.” Ninety lies down, turning his back to Deacon. “But if I wake up dead, I’m haunting you.”

Deacon bears his teeth in disgust. “And we wouldn’t want that, would we?” he mumbles.

* * *

Apollo sits at the edge of the dock, cross-legged and watching the dark water lap at the pristine white boats. He can make out shapes moving beneath the surface, calling to him in a siren song to join them.

Someone appears next to him, sitting as if he had always been there, and Apollo looks to the man dressed in yellow.

“Morning,” Apollo greets. “Nice to see you, Mr. Farmer.”

Farmer smiles at him, face shadowed by his hat and the sunlight overhead.  _ Apollo, _ he greets.  _ This is a new location... _

Apollo looks behind him, at the tiki bar just past the concrete building shifting from pale peach to light beige. “My dad used to work here,” he says. “The tiki bar is my favorite. They had a lot of cool things inside it, like a big ol’ swordfish and a turtle guitar...”

Farmer tilts his head and then looks to the water.  _ You have someone down there... _

“I can’t go into the water,” Apollo says. “There’s barnacles.”

_...Barnacles. _

“They’re really sharp,” Apollo says. “I don’t want to be cut on one.”

_ Right. _ Farmer’s lip twitches, trying to hide his amusement.  _ And naturally the “monsters” in the water are of less concern. _

“I used to like playing with the comb jellies,” Apollo says. “I don’t know if they were really comb jellies. That’s just what we called them, for some reason. Just little blobs in the water. Harmless things, squishy, clear and nearly invisible. Not everything in the water is a monster.”

_ Hmm. And what of the ones that are...? _ Farmer tilts his head.  _ What was your definition of a monster? Someone who understands morals but purposely hurts others and enjoys it? Someone who hurts others for entertainment? Someone like me...? _

“Yeah,” Apollo says. “But you’re not in the water.”

_...Your logic is curious, Apollo. _

“My logic is logical.” Apollo looks up at Farmer and tilts his head. “S’not my fault if people think double meanings and innuendo is somehow more logical than the way I do things. Not my fault people think albatross soup makes sense as a riddle when there’s more than just the one answer someone could pull. I shouldn’t be faulted for coming up with a different answer or reasoning or story from something with multiple answers or seasonings or glories.”

Farmer stares back at him for a moment.  _ Explain the albatross soup riddle and your answer to it. _

Apollo sighs. “Ship wrecks on an is-land, two men survive. One provides food and tells the other it’s balbatross soup. Other is rescued and later orders albatross soup from a restaurant. Takes one bite and then leabes to kill himself. The question is why, the answer is people can be suicidal for many reasons including depression, PTSD, survivor’s guilt, whatever, and it’s a build-up over time sometimes leading to a snap decision from an unexpected trigger like eating a soup you’re familiar with when the last time you had it was during a traumatic time in your life.”

Farmer watches him in silence.  _ It was people. _

“It was  _ people!” _ Apollo groans. “Stupid— It’s  _ stupid _ and I  _ hate _ it. Is that really how normal people think? That they’d take one bite of a soup that tastes different ‘ven though it’s made by different people and might be a different recipe and think ‘oh I must have been eating people’? Is that really how people think, that they’d think ‘oh he must’ve been eating people’?” He crosses his arms and pouts. “Gross. People are the worst. That’s why I don’t want to be one.”

_ Give yourself enough time and injury and you won’t have to be one, _ Farmer says, an air of danger in his tone that prickles Apollo’s skin like static, blue and electric.  _ You have part of me in you, Bard. You’re lucky. You amuse me too much for me to take it back. But I’m not here to make sure you aren’t hurt. If what’s in you mutates you the more you die and suffer mutilation, then the sooner you get your wish. _

“...Are you lying?” Apollo asks.

_ You made it clear you don’t understand riddles, _ Farmer says.  _ And it’s not as amusing to watch you stumble through them as it is with the detective— _

“But you _ are _ here to make sure I’m not hurt,” Apollo says. He points at the water, where the monsters once calling for him are cowering, curled up and small. “So... at least some of that is lies...?” At Farmer’s silence, Apollo squints. “Or is that the riddle you wanted me to solve...?”

Farmer smiles.  _ “You owe the Guardian a talk, Bard. Save your words for her.” _

Rig jolts awake at a stabbing pain in his side. He rolls over and reaches over, finding the pen he had been writing with the night before, and his journal still open to the page he fell asleep on and the half-finished poem written down.

He sighs and sits up to reread what he wrote.

He’s going to finish writing before he commits to facing the real world.


End file.
